Brave New World
by Patricia de Lioncourt
Summary: Partially DH compliant, most AU. Voldemort arrived at Malfoy Manor quicker than expected, and like that, the war was over. Now, Hermione is Snape's "assigned companion," and as determined as ever to stop Voldemort and save her friends. But that's hard to do in Voldemort's new world…
1. Broken

**Artist:** twisted_slinky  
 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or any related characters. Making no money here, as they all still belong to their prospective owners.  
 **Author's Note:** Written for the 2016 Het Bang over at LiveJournal.

* * *

 **Chapter One: Broken**

How could it have come to this? Severus Snape sat in the corner of the room, opposite the door. His back was to the wall, both literally and figuratively. He could afford no one to sneak up on him now. He had failed.

They had all failed.

When Potter—wandless, reckless Potter—and his friends had been brought to Malfoy Manor, surely they thought that they could escape. No one expected Voldemort's quick arrival. It was odd, since no one Death Eater present could truly recall summoning the Dark Lord. Snape suspected Bellatrix, but none of that mattered now. Nothing mattered except the loss. Bellatrix, as it was, had taken to torturing Hermione, putting her in the unconscious state she was in now, splayed out on a bed in one of the Malfoy's many "guest" rooms. He was sure Lucius and Narcissa was none too happy about a filthy "mudblood" being laid out on their nice, posh bedding, but Snape had arrived shortly after Voldemort. He _had_ been summoned by the Dark Lord.

Voldemort had dispatched Harry quickly, choosing to knock him unconscious rather than kill him. Most found this odd, but Snape knew why he hesitated, even if the Dark Lord himself hadn't fully figured it out yet. Dumbledore had all but told him. A little research done on his part, out of the old Headmaster's prying eyes, and Snape had discovered the rest of the truth. But damned if he was going to tell anyone. Weasley, of course, was the easiest to dispatch. No one ever suspected him to be much trouble for anyone. Again, another member of the Golden Trio unconscious and imprisoned, but not dead. But Snape suspected that Voldemort would not have such mercy on a mudblood muggle-born like Granger. So, in the haste of the events, Snape had scooped the young woman up, carrying her into this room.

Her face looked only slightly troubled, as if she were simply uncomfortable, rather than recovering from various applications of the Cruciatus Curse. The girl was strong, brave, and, above all else, smart. If she died, then the glue that held Potter's trio together would dissolve. All hope would truly be lost. He needed a plan, fast.

"Ah, Severus," came the hissing, high, cold voice of Voldemort as he entered the room, "there you are."

The time for planning was over, and it was wasted. Snape didn't know what to do. Or how to explain his whereabouts. Thank God for his skills at Occlumency.

"Tell me, why are you not celebrating, Severus?" Voldemort asked, further entering the room. "We have won."

We. It was all Snape could do not to flinch against that word. The world still didn't know. Which, he supposed, was not the worst thing at the moment. After all, when he agreed to Dumbledore's plan—all those years ago, and then again in the recent past—he knew that perhaps the world would never know the truth of Severus Snape and his part in the war against Voldemort. He was supposed to be Voldemort's willing servant… but he hadn't been. Not since… Well, that was years ago, no matter how fresh it still felt, and it was not the problem at hand. Now, he had to lie.

"Forgive me, My Lord. I merely… needed time to think…"

It wasn't a complete lie, and those were the best kind. A little truth makes the lie more convincing. Voldemort grinned, and it looked even more horrible than it ever had. He chuckled a bit, striding across the space to rest a hand on Snape's shoulder.

"Ah, Severus… ever in thought. I like that about you, though. When all my other followers are mindlessly carrying out my orders, you find a way to do so more efficiently."

"Thank you, My Lord."

Snape's eyes were trained on Hermione. She had still not awoken from her torture-inforced nap, and more surprisingly, Voldemort had yet to comment on her presence in this room.

"I am not so blind as to not see the pivotal role you played in putting me in power, in helping to win this war against the filth," Voldemort continued.

Snape tore his eyes away from Hermione to gaze up at the Dark Lord. Voldemort still had that grin on his face, and now he patted Snape's shoulder in an almost fatherly fashion.

"That is why I am making you my personal advisor, in the most official capacity."

Snape blinked. The wind felt knocked out of him, though he wasn't entirely sure why. There were a million reasons. He would be closer than ever to information regarding Voldemort's operations, number one. But now he wasn't quite sure what he could do with that information, with the Wizarding World's one hope captured, number two. And, finally, closer to Voldemort meant more opportunities for him to discover Snape's treachery. He swallowed, and allowed not a second more to pass.

"T-thank you, My Lord. I'm… honored. I don't know what to say," he answered, standing only to bow deeply to Voldemort.

He played his part well, no one could say otherwise.

"None of that, none of that," Voldemort said as Snape moved to stand fully erect again. "Now, for an obvious question… why have you swooped away with the muggle-born girl? Granger, her name is?"

The lie he had not had time to think of. He glanced over at the still-slumbering Hermione. Voldemort let out another low chuckle, shaking his head.

"You can have anything your heart desires, Severus. That is part of your reward as well. You need only ask."

Snape met Voldemort's cold eyes.

"I wish Granger to be spared."

He prayed he did not have to give a reason. Voldemort laughed, louder than he had before, and it left Snape with a cold feeling running the course of his body, like a slow trickle of icy water.

"Done. My, Severus, this… obsession you have with muggle-borns. But yes, she will be spared. Actually, that was another thing I wished to speak with you about."

Snape's gazed narrowed. That cold feeling now seemed to permeate his very bones. "Oh?"

Voldemort now began to slowly approach Hermione's bedside, and Snape's whole body stiffened with a horrible anticipation. Something dreadful was about to happen, but Snape could not fathom what it could be. Voldemort, while awful, was mostly true to his word. Then again, there was always a catch. What would be the catch here?

"Magic is precious, that much is certain," Voldemort said. "There were reasons I did not destroy Weasley, though he is part of those who defied me. And there are reasons why I will not, at least in a large part, be destroying mudbloods. Wasted magic is a tragedy."

Snape's brow was in danger of disappearing into his hair. Where was Voldemort going with this? He wanted to ask as much, but he knew his so-called master's ability to gloat, to stroke his own ego. Answers would come soon enough.

Apparently, Snape's apprehension was showing on his face. Voldemort shook his head, still chuckling.

"Don't worry, Severus. Ever the worrier. Granger is yours. But as such, she is now a greater responsibility to you. You must rule her now. An iron fist, Severus; I know you are capable of it. You mustn't let this mudblood have any real sway over you."

Snape dared the tiniest of steps forward, his head cocked to the side, the very picture of confusion. That wasn't hard to fake, as he was very confused as to Voldemort's true meaning in telling him these things.

"Forgive me, my lord. Rule her? I don't quite understand your meaning," he said, open handed, the picture of innocence.

"She must never be allowed to travel without you. You must command her every movement. _Nothing_ she is to do from now on is to be without your consent. She is, wholly and truly, _yours_. You see, as filthy as they are, we must use these mudbloods as best we can. They are, after all, still magical beings. They must now find other uses for us."

Snape fought to keep his true feeling off of his face. But his eyes still widened, just a tad, at the revelation of what Voldemort truly meant.

"Slaves, my lord? You mean… for those without pureblood to be used as slaves?"

"Oh, Severus, no. Nothing so crude as that. We have quite a few people to rule now, and such a word… well, it leaves a bad taste, doesn't it? I was thinking more of… assigned companions."

Snape bit the inside of his cheek to keep the grimace off his face. Voldemort had gone from warmonger to politician in a matter of moments. How had no one seen this coming? Not even him?

"Please, I beg your forgiveness, my lord. I… misunderstood."

Voldemort waved his words away as if swatted at a bothersome fly. "Think nothing of it. Of course, there is but one more thing for you to do, before I can fully release Miss Granger here into your custody."

A weight like a stone formed in Snape's stomach. He steeled himself to respond.

"Anything you ask, my lord."

Voldemort smiled, reaching down beside Grangers's slumbering body, somewhere around her hip. Snape clenched his hands at his sides, hiding them in the folds of his voluminous black robes. When Voldemort faced him again, he held Granger's wand aloft.

"Break it," he said.

Snape blinked. "What?"

Voldemort disliked repeating orders. When he spoke next, there was a bite in his cold tones.

"Mudbloods are not to be allowed to do most magicks. Yes, there is wandless magic, but that is far more difficult to do, and apparating, but that is to be closely monitored. Vigilance is a part of your new responsibility, Severus. But everyday magic? Magic that could potentially do harm to you or another pureblood? Unacceptable. Break the wand, and she is yours."

He thrust the wand into Snape's hands. The former Potions master took only a moment to consider alternate possibilities. He knew that Voldemort still held Ollivander, so another wand for Granger would be impossible. For Granger… or any half-blood or muggle-born that Voldemort discovered. But if he refused, for any reason, then everything everyone had worked for, that Dumbledore, or even Granger here, had worked for, was all for nothing.

Snape nodded once. He took each end of the wand in each hand, and snapped it in one easy movement. Voldemort smiled.

"Enjoy your spoils."


	2. Abandon All Hope

**Artist:** twisted_slinky  
 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or any related characters. Making no money here, as they all still belong to their prospective owners.  
 **Author's Note:** Written for the 2016 Het Bang over at LiveJournal.

* * *

 **Chapter Two: Abandon All Hope**

Hermione sat up as though ice cold water had splashed her. As it was, she was completely dry, but she was not where she had been. If she recalled correctly, her last location had been Malfoy Manor, and this place was, decidedly, not Malfoy Manor. It was darker, if that was even possible, and dustier, and much more common-place. But as her head turned to take in all that she could of her surroundings, to understand her situation, her eyes landed squarely on Severus Snape.

He was sitting in a plush, tall-backed chair mere feet from the sofa she had been stretched upon. She whirled her legs off of said sofa, her jeans making a scratching noise on the rough green fabric as she did so, as Snape stood.

"Traitor! Murderer!" Hermione screamed, reaching for her wand.

To her horror, it was nowhere to be found. That seemed impossible, unless one of the Death Eaters, particularly Bellatrix or even Snape himself, had taken it from her. Her eyes flew towards the exit, or at least where she presumed the exit to be. Even if she dashed, there would be no way for her to make it, she'd have to go right past Snape, and he'd be easily able to grab her. Honestly, she was still a bit unsteady from her torture session with Bellatrix. So, instead, she locked eyes with Snape.

"Where's my wand? Where am I?"

"Calm yourself, Miss Granger. I'll explain all, if you'll only listen," he said, hands held out plaintively.

A white-hot rage filled her. She moved to stand, wobbled, and fell back onto the sofa.

"I don't have to listen to _you_ anymore. Not after you… Where's Ron? And Harry? Where are they?"

She was screaming at him, needlessly, given their close proximity. But it was quite cathartic, given the torture and fear and everything her and her friends had recently undergone.

"Actually, you do have to listen to me, if you wish to live," Snape snipped at her.

She narrowed her eyes, and with it, the volume of her voice. "Are you threatening me?"

Snape sighed and shook his head. He all but sunk back down into his own chair, and rested his face in his cupped hands. Somehow, that frightened Hermione more than anything else thus far. Here she was, wandless, friendless, and yet, she was unharmed by the man Harry had witnessed, firsthand, kill Professor Dumbledore. Why was she still unhurt, save for the remnants of Bellatrix's torturing—and even those were fading away?

"I won't hurt you," he asserted. "I just need you to _listen_."

"Fine," she replied, folding her hands in her lap. "I'm listening."

After all, what choice did she have?

Snape raised his gaze to hers. He released another sigh, this one a bit shakey, and sat back in his chair. He blinked, appearing to gather his thoughts, and finally, pursed his lips.

"What's the last thing you recall before losing consciousness? Of the events at Malfoy Manor?"

Hermione thought back. She remembered, most recently, writhing in pain as Bellatrix launched questions at her concerning the Sword of Gryffindor and what hers and Harry's plans had been for Voldemort. Before that, though…

"Harry had been hexed, stinging curse. I did it to hide his appearance, so no one would know they had Harry in their possession. We were all taken to Malfoy Manor, and several people—the Malfoys, the people who brought us—were arguing on whether to summon You-Know-Who or not. Bellatrix finally told them not to… she was freaked out over the appearance of the sword. Kept saying… kept saying they were all in danger. That's when they separated us. Me, to torture, Harry and Ron to the cellar. That's the last thing of note I can remember," Hermione said, not without a bit of sting in her voice.

Snape nodded. "Well, Lucius didn't listen. As soon as Bellatrix was out of sight, he summoned the Dark Lord to the manor. I followed just as soon as I felt the sting of the Mark. The Dark Lord… he knew it was Potter, without a doubt. He took control of the situation at once."

Hermione gasped, a hand clapped over her mouth. Tears began to sting her eyes. She fought them back.

"So they're… Harry, he was wandless… They're dead?"

She was close to sobbing. But Snape shook his head.

"No. They're still alive. The Dark Lord… he seemed unwilling to kill them just yet."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "What? That's… I don't understand."

"The Dark Lord was on a personal errand when he received the call of the Mark. I'm unsure what happened, but perhaps it had a part in changing his mind."

It looked like Snape was holding something back, something he seemed unwilling to say. Hermione supposed that was probably a lot, considering. But, for the moment, she needed more answers to the problems at hand. First of all…

"Where's my wand, then? I still had my own."

Snape fidgeted in his seat. She had never seen the cold, cruel Potions master look so uncomfortable. Something was horribly, undeniably wrong.

"I broke your wand, Miss Granger. To save your life."

Hermione's eyes threatened to fall right from her skull. Her jaw dropped open, only to close again so her mouth could form a proper scowl.

"What? My wand! You… why? How in Merlin's name did that save my life?" she screeched.

At this, Snape stood. He loomed over her, his black robes casting an even blacker shadow over her form on the sofa. It was suddenly made horrendously clear to her that she was, presumably, alone in a house with a known murderer… wandless. She was not one easily cowed, but without her magic and no visible weapon within arm's reach, she felt as though she was sinking into the very sofa itself.

"It saved your life because it bound you to me," Snape explained.

He didn't sound as angry as Hermione had expected. Actually, it seemed to be more the sound of shame that was creeping into his voice. He wouldn't hold her gaze, darting away every few seconds. Was this really the same man who had murdered Albus Dumbledore in cold blood?

"What's happened?" Hermione all but whispered.

Snape collapsed back into his chair, his elbow resting on the arm, his face back in his hands.

"We lost. We lost it all, that's what happened. Dumbledore… he had such hope for Potter, for the Golden Trio, but because of a _stupid_ mistake, we _lost_."

Hermione arched a brow. So many questions, but one jumped to the forefront.

"'We'?"

Snape took a deep breath, turning back to Hermione. "Albus was dying. It was due to the ring he found. It was killing him. He knew of The Dark Lord's plan for Draco Malfoy, and asked me to step in and kill him in Draco's place."

For the second time, Hermione's jaw fell open. "No. You're lying."

"Sadly, I am not. I've been working on _Potter_ 's behalf this entire time."

"B-but, no. George's ear!"

"A well-crafted argument, Granger. I applaud your skills as an orator, but that was merely an accident."

"An accident?" Hermione squeaked. "You cut off his _ear_!"

"I was _aiming_ for the head of the Death Eater about to kill Lupin. Would you have rather I'd not tried?"

Hermione glared down her former teacher. "How can I believe you?"

"You are alive, and, for the most part, safe within my home. For now, that's all the proof you need."

Hermione frowned. Without a proper defense, without knowing the state of her friends, she really had no other choice. Snape had not harmed her, yet, and that was going to have to be enough. Instead, her mind wandered for a moment. Snape was right about one thing. If Voldemort had Harry, then they had truly lost. This was something she had never considered. Never, once, had she ever truly believed that they would lose. Of course, she had taken precautions in case, but that still didn't mean she really believed it.

"The Dark Lord, before I departed, told me that he would be holding a ball in Malfoy Manor to celebrate the victory over Potter and the Ministry," Snape said, interrupting her thoughts. "He told me that he wished to speak to me again at that time. I believe he intends to lay out his plans to rule."

Rule. Voldemort had gone from a single enemy to the ruler of Hermione's known world. How could any of this have possibly happened? Devastated didn't seem like a big enough word to describe how Hermione was feeling at the moment. Annihilated was closer.

"He intends to take it all, doesn't he?" she asked.

At this, Snape shrugged. Such an incredibly human move for a man she was still not so sure she should stop thinking of as a monster.

"It will only get worse from here, of that I am sure. I'm not sure what He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named wants to include in his self-made empire, or what that means for what he _doesn't_ want included. But, as I have said, with me, you are safe."

"And why is it that I'm with you? How is it that breaking my bloody wand saved my life again? I don't believe we quite got to that part."

Snape sat straighter now, leaning forward as if he were about to deliver the news of a lost loved one. Conversely, it made Hermione press her back farther into the sofa. Whatever explanation that was coming, she wasn't going to like it. Something was all wrong, like the universe had a tear in it. All in a matter of hours.

"I asked the Dark Lord to spare you… and he presented me with some ideas for muggle-borns and half-bloods."

"… And they were?"

"He called them… assigned companions. They would be put under the… care and rule of purebloods, to follow their every command. They won't be permitted to do everyday magic or any sort of defensive magic. Anything that could potentially harm a pureblood. And apparition is only for use when approved by the pureblood in charge. I even had to put up an anti-apparition barrier around my home to follow along."

"So, in other words… I'm a slave… and so are any other person without a pureblood line!"

Snape nodded.

Hermione glowered at him. "I _know_ that includes you, you know."

Snape's eyes narrowed in the first truly hateful look he had given her here. "And, for both of our sakes, I'm going to assume that you will keep that to yourself!"

Hermione pursed her lips into a thin line. A long silence passed. Finally, she pushed a breath through her tightened lips.

"When is this ball?"

"Two week from now."

"I want to go. I know we can stop him still. I know it!"

"Don't worry. You'll be attending as my… assigned companion."

Hermione firmly placed a scowl on her face. "You mean, as your slave?"

Snape lowered his eyes.

"Sadly, Granger, yes… that is the situation."


	3. Fun and Games

**Artist:** twisted_slinky  
 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or any related characters. Making no money here, as they all still belong to their prospective owners.  
 **Author's Note:** Written for the 2016 Het Bang over at LiveJournal.

* * *

 **Chapter Three: Fun and Games**

A lot can change in a day. So, one could imagine the magnitude of what could change in two weeks. And a lot didn't seem like the right phrase. Perhaps "everything" would be closer, because that was what happened. Everything Hermione knew about the Wizarding World changed in just two weeks.

Voldemort's "Victory Ball," as it was being dubbed, was all anyone could talk about. Granted, the chatter came at varied degrees of anticipation. Most lived in fear and dread of the event, while there was the rare few—Voldemort's followers in the war—that talked as if this was going to be the greatest evening of their life. After overhearing a few Death Eaters, Hermione was not quite sure that her excitement for the Yule Ball, back in Fourth Year, could compare to theirs for this event. Hermione, in her own way, was looking forward to the night as well. She needed answers, and this ball could very well be her only chance. Snape gave her very little.

But what he did share with her saddened and sickened her all at once. Voldemort had moved quickly on his plans for muggle-borns and half-bloods. Now, if you were not of pureblood, you had to register to be "claimed" by pureblood witch or wizard. There was no limit as to how many muggle-borns or half-bloods that a pureblood wizard could claim, but it was recommend to think seriously about control. Those who were not "claimed" were sent to something called "the pool." While it sounded harmless enough, just a pool of names, Hermione was positive that it was just as ghastly as she could imagine, if not worse. After all, muggle-borns and half-bloods were being made to be dependent on purebloods. They weren't allowed to return home, to have a life. They had to be physically be placed somewhere, and that was one of the many, many things that made "the pool" a terrible thought.

Voldemort was making laws left and right, while stripping away basic rights for those not of pureblood. The Ministry remained his, and rumor had it he had named himself Minister of Magic. Hermione had no doubt that this was true, Snape had told her as much; what she doubted was that the title of "Minister" would last very much longer. She was sure King or Emperor would follow.

All of this clouded her thoughts daily, but for the moment, she pushed them aside as she gazed at herself in the full-length mirror. The ball was tonight, and Snape had purchased a set of dress robes for her to wear. As he had not known her size, they were now at Madam Malkin's, getting it tailored.

If this were any other occasion, with any other person, this set of dress robes would have been beautiful. They were a light lavender, with sheer sleeves, a corset top, and a bell skirt. The Madam herself was kneeling near the small stool on which Hermione stood, working on the hem of the skirt to bring it up a few inches. As it was that she was a claimed muggle-born, her "companion," or rather owner as she liked to think of it as, could not be very far from sight. In fact, it was law now, one of the many Voldemort had passed. For Hermione to leave Snape's home at Spinner's End, she must be accompanied by him. So, Severus Snape sat on a cushioned stool, made probably for accompanied customers, idly flipping through a copy of The Prophet.

"Almost finished, dear," Malkin said, standing and stretching her back. "Just need a bit more thread. Back in a tick."

Hermione nodded absently at her as she exited the room. As soon as she was out of sight, she turned to Snape.

"This is ridiculous."

"You don't like the dress?" Snape asked, without looking up from the newspaper.

"You know bloody well what I mean! It's one thing to attend this ball, to get some answers, but it's quite another to have to be fancied up like this! I'm your slave. Why do I have to be dressed up like a buffoon? Like I _want_ to be there?"

Snape lowered the paper, sighing. "We must maintain the façade, Granger. I must appear as your absolute master. To that end, I would never allow someone to accompany me to a ball in common clothing. We must do what we must to remain alive. You know this."

Hermione turned back to the mirror, her reflection frowning at her but wisely remaining silent.

"I'm not sure this is a world I _want_ to live in," she murmured.

"I didn't figure you for the suicidal type, Miss Granger."

That comment was meant to rile her, to make her see that her lamenting was pointless. Hermione ignored him, staring determinedly at her reflection. She heard Snape lift his paper and begin leafing through it again was Malkin re-entered the room. She went right back to work and in a moment, announced the dress's completion.

"If you'd like to change, dear, I'll meet the both of you at the front of the shop to box it up for you," she said.

It might have been Hermione's imagination, but she thought she saw Malkin flash her a sad, sympathetic little smile. Like she knew the situation Hermione was in now, and felt horribly for her. Hermione knew she didn't imagine it when she shot Snape, who barely acknowledge the seamstress, a withering glare. She left the room, and Hermione stepped off the stool with a sad smile of her own in place. She stepped behind the dressing screen before she took up her conversation with Snape.

"I just think there has to be _something_ we can do, to stop him. To end this."

"Two people saving the world? What a grand vision you have," she heard him sneer.

She was out of the dress robes and back in a set of plain, black robes in moments. She slung the dress over her arm and huffed as she rounded the screen.

"It was going to be _three_ people," she answered.

"And what a bang up job the Golden Trio did there."

Hermione pursed her lips, determined not to egg it on. They met Malkin at the front of the shop, as instructed, and then Snape, grabbing Hermione's arm, apparated back to Spinner's End. Apparation was only to be used in cases of extreme need if you were not pureblooded and was to be closely monitored. They arrived at the edge of the property line, having to come around the side to reach the front door. Once they were safely inside, Hermione stomped a few steps ahead.

"Are you really so happy to be a part of this? A part of this horrible place of _his_ making?"

She hadn't thought to ask whether Voldemort's name was still Taboo. She would later. Now, her righteous anger was more important.

"Of course not!" Snape snapped through gritted teeth. "But what is there to be done at the moment? Are you hiding an army in those robes? Because he has the Ministry, he has Potter, he has it all! We must play the part until an opportunity affords itself, and, as it may sadden you to hear, that may not be for some time. Patience! You and the dream team were never good at it, but it's high time that you've learned!"

Hermione drew in a breath, her arms shaking with rage. But in the end, she simply gripped the dress box a little tighter. Snape, for the moment, was right. She had nothing to work with, and no knowledge of her friends' current states of being. She was assured that they were all still alive, but alive and well was a different story. So, she simply looked away from Snape, her supposedly unwilling captor. After all, she was still not quite sure she believed everything he had said about the circumstances of Dumbledore's murder.

"I should go get ready," she muttered to the floor.

"Yes. You should. We have some things to discuss before we leave, if we're not to arouse suspicion."

More rules for her muggle-born status. Her stomach tightened, but she only nodded, ascending the stairs toward the guest room of the home that Snape had made Hermione's room.

##

Dressed, Snape in black and Hermione in her lavender dress robes, they arrived at the edge of the drive leading to Malfoy Manor. Snape let her arm drop, but they both still walked side by side.

"Remember," he hissed at her.

She nodded. "I know."

The rules he had placed on this evening had made sense, in truth, but that did nothing to brighten her feelings toward them. She was not to speak unless spoken to with the only exception being in cases of the utmost importance. And she was to stay at his side at all times. Hermione had protested this one, wanting for a chance to explore and learn something—anything—she could use against the Dark Lord. But Snape had been adamant. He said that neither one could afford to have her caught snooping. Of course, she wasn't even sure how much real snooping she could accomplish without her wand, anyway. There had been a time, in her early childhood, she had fancied herself a spy and had learned to pick a lock with various different materials. But, after getting her letter to Hogwarts, she had always wondered if her skill with those items had been more magical than not.

"One step behind me," Snape ordered her, not caring to lower his voice now.

They were catching up with the other arriving guests to this ball. He had to appear the master, of course. Hermione was, again, uncertain on how much of this was acting and how much was not. But she knew she was hopelessly outnumbered, so she nodded and did as she was told.

They entered the manor home with no trouble at all, merely pointed to the ballroom. A few of the other Death Eaters—those Hermione could not put a name to—were nodding and greeting Snape with broad smiles, congratulating him on his "promotion." She desperately wanted to ask what this meant, but she remembered the rules. She was sure she would get an opportunity later to do so.

They arrived at the vast, ornate ballroom moments later. Candles, like those at Hogwarts—a thought that made Hermione's heart ache—floated high above them, providing plenty of illumination for the room. The floors were black and white checkered in a material that Hermione supposed to be marble. Tables, circular and covered in white-linen tablecloths, were scattered about the space. Near the forefront of the room was a small, raised platform with a strange, covered object seated on it. It almost looked like a giant birdcage, suspended from the ceiling. Hermione couldn't tell if any noise came from the covered cage, since there was plenty of music being played by a classical band set off to the right of the stage. A space between where the table placement ended and the stage began had been set aside for dancing, and Hermione was disgusted by how many happy, gleeful people were twirling around on the space now.

So many smiling, joyful faces. Some she recognized, some she didn't—apparently, Voldemort had gained some new followers. She gritted her teeth, keeping in step behind Snape as they moved farther into the ballroom. They were fewer than ten paces in when a familiar, drawling voice called out, "Severus!"

Lucius Malfoy, dressed in his best emerald green robes with his long, white-blond hair tied back, practically glided over to Snape, taking his hand warmly in his own.

"Ah, Severus, a glorious evening, isn't it?" Lucius said through a genuine smile.

Hermione couldn't remember a time, if any, that she had ever seen a truly happy smile on Lucius's face. They were usually filled with malice, but not this one. He looked just plain happy. Snape seemed to note this as well, commenting on it.

"I see the Dark Lord has forgiven your family?"

Lucius nodded. "Indeed. I could ask for no greater news on this, the night we celebrate the Dark Lord's victory over Potter."

Hermione couldn't help it. She was trying to keep her eyes away from the two men, looking at anything other than them as they conversed. But at the mention of Harry's name, she fixed a hard glare on Lucius. And it didn't go unnoticed. The elder Malfoy huffed out a laugh.

"Ah, so it is true. The Dark Lord mentioned that you were the first to claim a mudblood as your own, and Potter's little friend, no less. Tell me, girl, how does it feel, to have everything you've fought for taken away? To be a slave?"

"Assigned companion," Snape gently reminded. "The Dark Lord does not wish the negative connotation that that word has on it."

"Not yet. Ah, but Granger, you haven't answered me. How does it feel?"

She could feel Snape's eyes on her, almost as if they were boring into her. She hid her hands in the folds of her skirts, clenching them as tightly as she could manage.

"Horrible beyond words," she said through gritted teeth.

Snape didn't seem pleased with this response, but Hermione figured that, since he was so adamant on keeping up a façade, she shouldn't lie. She wasn't a Voldemort-lover overnight. Lucius threw back his head a laughed.

"Well, it's more than you and your little friends deserve, putting me in Azkaban. If I had my way, the lot of you would be blotted from existence. But, alas, I'm sure the Dark Lord has his plans."

"And who are we to doubt them?" Snape jeered.

Hermione hid a smile. Not what she would have wanted to say, but at least the sting of the words did not go unnoticed. The smile vanished from Lucius's lips as he stared down his nose at Snape.

"Yes, quite right. Well, my pardons… I must fetch Narcissa," he said, gliding away just as quickly as he'd come.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Snape bent just close enough to Hermione so that his whisper could be clearly heard.

"Careful, Granger. It would be wise not to anger a _roomful_ of your enemies," he cautioned.

"Would you rather I'd told an obvious lie? How legitimate would we look then?" she shot back.

Snape seemed to ruminate on this as they continued weaving through the Death Eaters toward an empty table. They were mere feet away from a table when a little laugh and a solid body appeared in their pathway. Bellatrix Lestrange, just as smiling as Lucius, but dancing in place blocked their pathway.

"Oh, Sev, isn't it grand! Oh, you should see him, see how joyful he is!" she exclaimed.

Snape raised a brow. "The Dark Lord, I presume?"

"Who else? Ah, and what do we have here? Feeling better, mudblood? Or shall we have another go round? I'm sure this place wouldn't mind some more entertainment," Bellatrix said, setting her hungry, crazed eyes on Hermione.

Hermione was moments away from responding when Snape cut her off.

"She's _mine_ , Bella. The sooner you learn that, the better."

The force of his words caused both women to gaze at him for just a moment. Finally, Bellatrix shrugged.

"It doesn't matter. Maybe I'll get me a mudblood to play with… would make for a lovely way to pass an evening. And it would be nice to see how many times I could repeat the results I had with the Longbottoms."

Bellatrix flitted away, and Snape put a tight grip on Hermione's shoulder. The look in his eyes said more than any words. He released her after a moment, striding ahead. They both reached the table, and Hermione waited for him to be seated before following suit, taking a chair at his right.

They didn't speak. After all, they didn't want to seem cordial. She was his slave, no matter what vernacular was being used. And slaves, especially those with so-called dirty blood, were not friends. But, in their silence, with the noise of others talking and the music playing, Hermione found herself replaying Bellatrix's words. Her gut clenched at the thought of whatever poor soul would be taken from the pool and assigned to her. She shook it off for the moment, looking about the room. There had to be somebody, anybody here that she could recognize, that could answer the questions of her friends' statuses burning in her mind.

As if in answer, the Weasleys, the only group of redheads, entered. They all looked extremely uncomfortable, to make an understatement. Hermione wondered what Voldemort was playing at, letting them attend… or was it forcing them to? Her eyes washed over all of them in turn, naming each one as she saw them. There was Arthur, arm and arm with Molly, then Charlie, Bill with Fleur, Fred and George, Percy, and, finally, Ron. _Ron_. He was alive, just as Snape had said. Hermione's heart swelled with relief. She started to rise from her chair, to go to her friend, and to find out what the hell had happened since their capture at this very manor. But then, barely raised to stand, she heard Snape clear his throat. She turned to stare at him.

"That wouldn't be wise, Granger. Possibly, it would be the worst idea," he said.

Hermione felt her lips tremble. She glanced back at the Weasleys, seeing suddenly a dark haired, familiar face sweep in and pull Ron away from his family with a sadistic grin in place. There was no joy in that smile, save for the joy of separating Ron from his family.

"What is Pansy doing?" Hermione asked, keeping her voice low, despite the loud music.

"Pureblood families who opposed the Dark Lord, if they wish to live, must pay tribute to him. They must offer a member of their family to join the Death Eaters, and they must marry purebloods only," Snape replied.

"What?" Hermione asked, incredulous.

"Percy was offered to the Death Eaters. And Ron is currently engaged to Miss Parkinson."

Hermione felt like she was going to be sick. She turned away from her former teacher to gaze back at the Weasleys, still grouped together as they were. She counted over them again, then a dark cloud gathered in her mind as she realized one was missing from the group.

"Where's Ginny? Why isn't she with her family?"

Snape lifted a lazy hand, pointing a finger across the room. "She's sitting over there."

Hermione followed his finger, finding Ginny was indeed sitting at a table across the room from their own. She was dressed in green, a lighter shade of the color than what Lucius's robes had been, and she was completely alone at her table, gazing off into space.

Hermione turned back, about to comment on this to Snape, when another Death Eater—one of those that she did not know—approached the table. He was laughing before he spoke, and he began to engage Snape in conversation. She turned away, staring back at Ginny.

Why was she alone? Why hadn't she gone to her family, and why in the world would she have arrived at this Victory Ball before them? Hermione was practically itching to go speak with her. She whirled back toward her keeper, waiting for a lull in conversation. The new arrival to their table stopped to take a breath, and Hermione inched in an "excuse me" in the smallest voice she could manage.

Snape glared at her, instantly enraged that she had broken one of his most important rules for the night.

"What?" he snipped.

"Could I, if you don't mind, go speak with Ginny? Please?"

Hermione was very good at pretending to be weak. It had come in handy when dealing with Umbridge, and though she despised the skill, she recognized it as valuable in a world where she was seen as less than nothing.

"You are to remain at my side."

"Ah, Sev! Let the little pet go have some fun! We're in a room full of Death Eaters, she's not gonna cause any trouble!" the other Death Eater piped in.

He was already tipsy, and his nose was even a little shade of red. Snape pursed his lips.

"Go. But return here _immediately_ after speaking with her. Understood?"

Hermione nodded. She stood, preparing to set off across the room, when a hand caught her at the elbow. She turned to see that the unknown Death Eater had gripped her, holding her in place. He squeezed her arm, hard, just once.

"Aren't we forgetting something? Don't you owe your master thanks for his generosity?"

A beat of time passed, Hermione's blood pounding in her ears. She locked eyes with Snape, nodding once.

"Forgive me," she forced out. "Thank you, sir."

"There!" the Death Eater proclaimed jovially. "That's much better. Now, off you trot."

She heard the scrape of the chair as the Death Eater took her seat, and Hermione moved as quickly as she could toward Ginny. The youngest Weasley saw her approaching just before her arrival. She all but threw herself to her feet.

"Hermione!"

Hermione opened her arms, ready to embrace her friend, when Ginny stopped her. She stuck out her right hand, and Hermione nodded. They shook hands, and Hermione felt a square of parchment being pressed into her palm. It was a shock, but Hermione knew better than acknowledge it. She slipped it, discreetly, into her dress. When she smiled back at Ginny, she saw that the younger woman looked on the verge of tears.

"Ssh, not here. Not for _them_ ," Hermione cautioned.

"I'm just… I'm just so _happy_ to see that you're okay! Is it true? Are you Snape's… assigned companion, ugh?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes… I am."

"He hasn't… he hasn't tried to… you know, hurt you in any way?"

Hermione was sure she knew what the implication was here. She shook her head.

"No. Not at all. What about you? What have I missed? I'm practically locked inside Snape's home. I've… I've learned a bit, but not all of it."

She wasn't sure if she should reveal Snape as her source, now or ever. But while she was here, she might as well fact check against someone whose word she could trust.

"Well, Percy was forced to join the Death Eaters, in according to the Tribute Law. And Ron… oh, Hermione, Ron's being forced to marry Pansy Parkinson, that horrible, pug-faced…"

Hermione held up a hand to stop her, twirling a single finger to silently remind her where she was. Ginny nodded.

"Right. Of course. It's _wonderful_."

Hermione allowed herself a brief smile. It vanished, however, when she posed her next question.

"And Harry? I've heard nothing of Harry, except that he's, apparently, still alive. Where is he?"

Ginny's lips parted, but she stopped. There was hurt, anger, and a deep sadness in her eyes, and it was all wrapped up in her hesitation. Hermione stared at her.

"What is it?"

She opened her mouth again, ready to explain, when she was cut off. All the music stopped suddenly, and all eyes turned to stage, where Voldemort himself had ascended.

"My friends," he said, his lipless mouth curling into a grotesque smile. "I welcome you all here tonight. A glorious night, isn't it?"

A great cheer rose up that was almost deafening. Hermione and Ginny remained defiantly silent. The Dark Lord continued.

"I will keep this short, as I want us all to enjoy ourselves in this revelry tonight. In fact, all I wished was to introduce you all to my new _pet_."

With that, he waved his wand, and the cloth flew off the cage-shaped object behind him. Hermione gasped, pressing a hand to her mouth as a round of cheering and laughter shook the room.

It was in fact a cage that had been hidden. Giant and gold, but its contents were nothing of the feathered variety. Instead, seated in the very center, looking as though he had endured a few rounds of Cruciatus himself, was Harry Potter.


	4. A Fate Worse

**Artist:** twisted_slinky  
 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or any related characters. Making no money here, as they all still belong to their prospective owners.  
 **Author's Note:** Written for the 2016 Het Bang over at LiveJournal.

* * *

 **Chapter Four: A Fate Worse**

Aghast, Hermione stared on as Voldemort continued to speak. She didn't hear most of what it said—it all sounded like propaganda speech—since she was so entranced with Harry. He looked slightly malnourished, a little bloodied, and his clothes looked like they were covered in a thin layer of dirt. He was trapped, in every sense of the word.

He'd never been able to apparate, and even if he could, the cage was probably spelled against it. He was wandless. Harry was just so completely helpless. Hermione felt her heart seize a bit, and she bit her lip, hard, to hold back tears.

The Death Eaters around her erupted into laughter at something Voldemort had said, which yanked her focus back onto Voldemort.

"Now, I hate to tear you away, but I would like to discuss a few things with my inner circle. So, if you would follow…"

A handful of people—Snape included, Hermione didn't fail to notice—rose and tailed after the Dark Lord. Once they were out of the room, Harry met Hermione's eyes from across the room. Everyone had gone back to their own conversations. She waved, lamely, at him. He managed the smallest of grins, mouthing, "You're all right?" at her. She nodded. They were cut off from their silent conversation then when a small group of Death Eaters arrived at the stage, presumably to mock him.

"He _is_ alive, then," Hermione said, breathing the words like the small relief that they were.

"If you can call that living," Ginny muttered.

Hermione nodded. Then, she was plagued with another question. One she felt she shouldn't ask, but knew that she had to.

"But… why? Why is Harry still alive? I thought You-Know-Who—"

"The name isn't Taboo anymore," Ginny put in.

"Thanks. I thought Voldemort wanted nothing more than Harry's death. I hate to even wonder about this, but, Ginny… why? What's the plan?"

Ginny shrugged. "Humiliation? Harry's life now is just torture, ridicule, and only enough food to survive. He's treated worse than an animal in a bad circus."

Hermione gazed at her friend. She knew how _she_ knew some of these things, she had Snape as her "master." But how did Ginny know about what goes on behind the Death Eaters' closed doors?

"Where did you learn all that from? And how are you okay? I mean, Voldemort's demanded something from all the purebloods that have opposed him, but you were known to have dated Harry. You figured he'd have something 'special' in mind for you."

Before Ginny could answer, Draco Malfoy, followed by Crabbe, came to stand at Ginny's side.

"I was excused from the meeting," he huffed like a petulant child, clearly speaking to Ginny.

"So sorry," the youngest Weasley remarked without the merest hint of sympathy.

It seemed as if he had just then caught sight of Hermione. His nose stuck high into the air, he sneered at her.

"Ginevra, once we're married, you'll not be permitted to socialize with a filthy mudblood such as Granger, you know that?"

Hermione's eyes threatened to fall out of her head.

" _Married_?"

Draco grinned triumphantly, lifting Ginny's left hand to show the huge silver, diamond, and emerald engagement ring on her finger. Crabbe guffawed.

"Jealous, Granger?" Crabbe said, stepping forward. "If you'd like, you could spend some time with me. It wouldn't all be torture, I promise."

"Shove off, Crabbe. I may not have my wand, but I won't need it. Ask your boss here. I got him right in his stuck-up nose."

Crabbe's eyes darkened. "You think you're so special, because the great Severus Snape claimed you? Tell me, does he put you to good use?"

The implication wasn't missed, and Ginny shook her head.

"Just because your dad isn't a member of Voldemort's inner circle doesn't mean you have to snivel to everyone about it," she snipped.

Like a flash, Draco's hand rose, landing a loud back-handed slap across Ginny's face. Hermione gasped, her arm pulling back, ready to revisit that punch she had landed on Draco four years ago, when she felt a hand wrap around her wrist. She tried to wrench free as she looked back to see who had her.

Snape glared down upon her.

"We're leaving. _Now_."

This spectacle was not missed by Voldemort, who glided in to stand beside Snape. He laughed, staring at the scene in approval.

"Well done, Severus. You have an exceptional mastery over this girl. And, while you're here, Miss Granger, I'd like to hear your opinion," the Dark Lord said, turning his red eyes to her.

She waited for him to continue, and he did a second later.

"How do you like your new station in life? After all, I've heard you called… oh, what was it? Ah, yes… the 'cleverest witch of your age.' Do you feel you've fallen far?"

Draco and Crabbe were chortling. Hermione drew herself up, still very aware of Snape's hand on her wrist.

"Well, I've still not reached _your_ level, so I've not fallen so far."

All mirth vanished from Voldemort's face, and Snape yanked her back, hard enough that Hermione wondered if he'd pulled something out of socket.

"She'll pay dearly for that, I assure you, my lord," he said, bowing slightly.

Voldemort smiled. "I'm sure she will. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Severus."

Snape muttered his thanks as he shoved Hermione a few steps away from Ginny, Draco, and Crabbe. She still wasn't quite out of earshot enough to miss Crabbe saying, "Oh, maybe he'll punish her real good. Filthy mudblood."

Hermione's face burned with anger and embarrassment. Snape strode ahead of her, leading her back out of the manor. They met no one as they continued down the drive, and once they were sufficient enough distance away, the former Potions master grabbed her arm—just not as roughly. In a pop, they were back at Spinner's End, and within the actual home in even less time. Hermione whirled on her captor.

"You're a monster! All of this… Harry in a _cage_ , Ginny and Ron being forced to marry… Pansy and Draco of all people! And people being forced to join the Death Eaters? You're in his inner circle, aren't you? Aren't you? How many people have you watched die, _Severus_? How many?"

She was practically shrieking at him now, and Snape stood there, a hard glare in place. He was no doubt incensed over her behavior at the ball, but at the moment she couldn't possibly find it in herself to care.

"So what did you talk about in your little meeting? What orders does _your_ master have for you? More laws to oppress those not of pureblood, those like _us_? Is there a legal requirement on torturing mudbloods, now?"

"It's the world, Granger," Snape said, interrupting her with a voice of forced calm.

Huffing and puffing, feeling like there should be smoke pouring out of both ears, Hermione replied, "What?"

"He wants the world. That's what the meeting was about."


	5. The Getaway

**Artist:** twisted-slinky  
 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or any related characters. Making no money here, as they all still belong to their prospective owners.

* * *

 **Chapter Five: The Getaway**

If Snape's goal had been to stun Hermione into silence, then he succeeded. The two of them moved into the lounge, with Snape taking a seat in the same chair he had been in two weeks ago when Hermione had regained consciousness. Hermione put her back to him, her mind rolling over the simple, yet profound, words.

Voldemort wanted the world. It made Hermione vaguely afraid, anxious as if waiting for the sky to fall. Finally, she turned. She remained on her feet, hoping that the fact that she loomed over him currently would lend some weight to her questions.

"What does that mean, exactly? Voldemort says he wants the world… What does he consider the world? Muggle and wizard alike? And how does he intend to take it?"

Snape ran a hand over his face, breathing deeply as he did so. When he exhaled, he dropped his hand, looking up to lock eyes with Hermione. He shrugged. She felt her rage returning.

"And what is _that_ supposed to mean?" she snipped.

He sighed, leaning forward in his seat. "I know, for certain, he intends to conquer all known regions of magic dwelling folk, for starters. Great Britain is only the beginning. He's tasted victory, and he wants more. As for the muggle world? I get a sense that he has plans for that, too, but they are not a large priority at the moment. For the moment, save for perhaps an occasional demonstration of power, muggles remain the safest of us all."

Forsaking the small advantage of being the one standing, Hermione sank onto the sofa. Her eyes were downcast as her brain sped on ahead of this moment. A million thoughts, a million words, spilled through her mind, but there was only one solid sentence that repeated.

"We have to do something!"

He laughed, and Hermione felt the burning in her cheeks return. She glared up at him, and he only shook his head.

"And, pray tell, what would you do? Precisely? You have no wand. Laws are being made and enforced every moment preventing you and wizards and witches like you from remaining free. So, please, Granger, do tell. What's your plan?"

Hermione pursed her lips, crossing her arms.

"There are wandless magics. I've read about them. I could, perhaps, learn them."

"That's much too risky. Or do you forget our precarious position? I am, essentially, the right hand man to a Dark Lord to whom I have no allegiance. You, on the other hand, are merely my slave in the eyes of everyone outside of this home. For now, there is nothing."

Hermione rose to her feet without thinking. "So that's it? We do nothing? We live in this world of hate and fear and oppression, and twiddle our thumbs?"

This time, Snape rose to his feet as well. He was a bit taller than she, so now it seemed that he was the one towering over her. He did not raise in voice. In fact, he did the opposite. He leaned in close, nearly whispering his next words.

"For the time being, that is _exactly_ what we're going to do. Nothing. Must I remind you again? We are not the popular opinion… at least, that's the way it seems. When Voldemort captured Potter, there was a veritable legion of new followers to crop up. I know you're used to action, you and your Golden Trio, and that this inaction must be killing you, but you are useless dead. Useless to them, useless to this world, to me, to yourself. _Try_ to keep that in mind, you self-righteous know-it-all!"

Shaking, Hermione whirled. She stomped from the room, up the stairs, and into her room, throwing shut the door behind her. She flopped on to the bed, only now aware that she was still in her dress robes. She resisted the urge to scream into the mattress, instead rolling over and directing a heated glare at the ceiling.

What was truly bothering her, what was really making her the angriest, was the simple fact that Snape… was right. In his own, annoying, hateful way, Severus Snape was absolutely right. Hermione suppressed a small laugh at the thought of saying those words aloud to either Harry or Ron. And she knew that she was being little more than a petulant brat at the moment, but the way she figured it, just this once, she had a right to this behavior. In a blink of an eye, her life had turned upside down. Her friends, her family—her parents!—were all suffering from this… from _her_ failure. It was all their fault, her and her friends. The so-called Golden Trio. She would have to carry this guilt for an untold amount of time, she knew that, and it made it all so terribly, terribly worse. Everyone who died, everyone tortured, all of it…was on her and her friends.

She shifted and heard the slight crinkling of paper coming from her within her dress. She reached inside her dress, remembering the folded piece of parchment Ginny had slipped her. She sat up, feeling slightly head rushed, and unfolded the paper. Written on it was two simple things, a place—Smorgum's Wares—and a time—midnight. Hermione glanced over her shoulder at the clock hanging on the wall between the two windows of her room. It showed she still had an hour and a half before midnight. All she had to do was get outside the house, to the edge of the property, then…

The thought was cut off by the sound of approaching footsteps. Hermione pressed the parchment close to her, ready to shove it away if necessary. Snape—as they sounded like his footfalls, and who else would be at Spinner's End at this time of night?—came to a stop outside of her bedroom door. She tensed, waiting for the knock on the door. A long moment passed, followed by yet another. Finally, all she heard was a sigh, and Snape moving away from her room. Seconds later, it was followed by the sound of another closing door, his bedroom if she had to guess.

Hermione had no time to lose. Presumably, Snape would be asleep in a few minutes, thirty minutes tops. Laying the note on her bed, she reached behind her back, struggling for a moment to undo the fasteners on her robes. Finally, the dress robes slipped to the floor, and she retrieved a pair of jeans and a shirt from the wardrobe—the outfit she had arrived here in. She was ready in moments, with nothing to do but wait. She watched the clock, agonizing over every second. Midnight seemed forever away, but soon enough, it was a quarter till. She crept to the door of her room, hoping against hope that she was right and Snape was now fast asleep. She had to creep past his door to reach the stairs, and she paused for just a second, pressing an ear to the wood. Beyond, if she wasn't mistaken, she could hear the faint sound of snoring. She smiled, tiptoeing down the stairs, and—finally—out the front door. She rounded the side of the house, keeping to the shadows, but staying just on the edge of the property in case of security charms. Once she was at the edge—which she had noted from when they had left for Madam Malkin's—she apparated away, hoping that the popping noise wasn't loud enough to wake Snape.

She was at her destination. It was dimly lit, only enough candlelight to make a small circle over a wooden table that was a few feet from where she stood. Several figures stood around the table, backs to Hermione. However, no doubt hearing the pop, the person directly across from her turned. Hermione was grateful to see that it was a friendly face smiling back at her.

"Glad to see that you could make it," Neville Longbottom smiled. "Come join us."


	6. Viva la Revolution

**Artist:** twisted-slinky  
 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or any related characters. Making no money here, as they all still belong to their prospective owners.

* * *

 **Chapter Six: Viva la Revolution**

It was so nice to feel Neville wrap his arms around her in a genuine show of affection. She hugged back, as tight as she dared, not really wanting to ever let go. But, let go they both did, and Neville was still grinning at her when they parted.

"Really, really am glad you've made it here, Hermione. This wouldn't be the same without you," he said, gesturing toward the circle of people at the table.

Coming closer, Hermione could make out a slew of familiar faces, including—most wonderfully and surprisingly—Ginny and Ron. All smiles, real, true smiles greeted her. She turned back to Neville, feeling lighter than she had in weeks.

"Where is 'here' exactly?" she asked.

"Well, you've gotta know. You apparated here," he said as they both reached the table. There were no chairs, but everyone seemed content just to stand. Ron beamed at her, and she was so happy to see Ron with no Pansy in sight that she could hear her own rapid heartbeat in her ears.

"I mean, what. What is here?"

"We're the resistance," Ginny said, arms crossed proudly across her chest.

That was the final straw. Hermione rounded the table, throwing her arms around Ron and Ginny in turn. A resistance! A force to stop all of Voldemort's plans! It was exactly what she had dared hoped for. There were but a few people at the table, faces she recognized from the halls of Hogwarts, but none she could name specifically. She missed Luna, specifically. She would have to think on asking about her friend. But, for now, she was just glad to be with Ron and Ginny.

"I'm so happy the two of you are alive! That you're okay!" she gushed.

Hermione Granger was not a crier, per se. She had cried in the past, yes, but not enough, she thought, to be considered a "crier." But, at this moment, she wanted to weep.

"Alive, yes. But not okay," Ginny answered, giving a grim little smile.

Sadly, Hermione found herself echoing Snape's words.

"What good would you be to the world dead? I'll take alive. How are you both even here?"

Ron shrugged. "Ginny told me that she told you about Pansy and Percy. And about Malfoy."

"Your… engagements?"

They both nodded. Ginny scoffed.

"Yes, and arranged marriages are all the _fun_ you'd ever thought they'd be," she said.

Her hand slid up her arm, and the red scratches—like fingernails of a hand that had grabbed you too roughly—did not go unnoticed. Hermione frowned.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"There were a lot of deals made to keep our family safe and alive. Because, like you said, Hermione, what good are we dead? Alive, at least we can form this resistance," Ron said.

That didn't do anything to quell the sick feeling forming in her stomach. Instead, she shook her head.

"How did you get away? To be here tonight?"

"Draco's been favoring the Firewhiskey ever since he's been old enough to have it… or since he's joined the Death Eaters. Either way, I start him drinking earlier, and he's out cold in plenty of time for me to leave for the meeting and get back," Ginny explained.

"Pansy likes to take a sleeping draught. Easy as can be to get away after that," Ron chimed in.

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "So… you're both living with them? Like me with Snape?"

They both nodded.

"Only way to ensure we stay loyal, according to everyone's new lord and master," Ginny snipped.

"We're barely allowed to see Mum and Dad," Ron lamented.

"So let's change that," Neville said, causing Hermione to start a little. She had half-forgotten there was anyone else present.

They all gathered around the table, all eyes on Neville, the assumed leader. He leaned forward, locking eyes with everyone for just a moment before he began to speak.

"We don't know how long we've got before someone misses one of us, so we'll be quick tonight. We've not got much to go on, as we've all spent the last two weeks adjusting to our new lives. But has anyone got anything we can use? Any information at all?"

"Death Eaters are claiming half-bloods and muggle-borns at an alarming rate, according to what I heard Lucius tell Draco," Ginny said.

"Wait," Hermione said, putting up her hands. "Is this it? We're just pooling information?"

"We're fledging, Hermione. Right now, that's all we can do," Neville answered.

"And then?"

Ron shrugged. "Then, we'll form a plan."

"But right now, we're not quite sure where everyone stands, as it were," Ginny added.

"Voldemort has something against everyone right now," Neville sighed. "We've got to be careful, or someone or something we really care about… well, you can guess."

Hermione nodded. It was just as Snape said. Be careful. Do nothing, for now. It sounded so sensible coming from her friends, and she knew in her heart of hearts that she was only raging against Snape because… well, "Against Snape" was a list unto itself, any item on which would be a viable reason. She was a patient person, one with a knack for planning and learning. If that's what she had to rely on for the moment, then so be it.

"Nothing, for now," she said.

Neville nodding, agreeing, "Nothing. For now. Now, any more info? Anything we can use at all? Any new laws, worse than the ones already in play?"

The room was silent. After a few more moments, Neville leaned off the table, sighing.

"I know we're just in the planning stages of this resistance, but that's no reason to lose hope. We're the start of something here… I know it."

"We don't have long to start it. Or, at least, I don't think we do," Hermione said.

All eyes fell to her. Ron arched a brow. "What do you mean?"

Hermione laid out for her friends all she had learned from Snape that evening. She stopped when all of her friends looked appropriately horrified. Except for Neville… who looked rather happy.

"Yes! This is it! This is what we needed!" he said, punching the air.

"What?" Hermione asked.

"You. Or rather, you being stuck with Snape. He's Voldemort's right-hand man. You can be the one to deliver what we need."

Hermione nodded. "Of course I will… but there's no… solid plans to Voldemort's world domination scheme. Just a want."

"But that's more than what we had before. Now, we need to figure out how to block his take over."

The meeting continued on, a few people sharing what little information they had gathered from their most reliable sources. Some were like Hermione, muggle-born and assigned to a Death Eater, so they had a few needful tidbits that allowed a bit of speculation on what Voldemort's next move would be. It wasn't a lot, but it was more than what Hermione had had earlier this evening. For now, it was enough.

"I think we should conclude," Neville said finally. "Before anyone's missed. Before you leave, here."

He tossed a handful of squares of parchment on the table. Everyone took one, and each square contained the information for the next meeting.

"Be safe, everyone," he said, before apparating away.

Several, nearly all, followed. Finally, it was only Ron, Hermione, and Ginny that remained.

"We, personally, have another priority, I feel," Hermione said.

The other two nodded sagely.

"Harry," they said in unison.

"We should try to find a way to free him. We know we need him to ultimately beat Voldemort, but much more importantly than that, he's our friend. And he needs us."

"We'll keep an ear out, since we're both with families that are close to Voldemort," Ron said.

"And I'll try to get what I can out of Snape," Hermione said.

"For Harry," Ginny said.

"For Harry," Hermione and Ron echoed.

With two pops, the Weasley siblings were gone. Hermione sighed. It took a decent bit of resolve not to run at that very moment. But Neville was right. She was living with Voldemort's right hand man. She had to go back.

In the next moment, she apparated back to the edge of Snape's house. Once again, keeping to the shadows and the edge of the property, she circled to the front door, opening it as slowly as she could to reduce noise. She was in her room in no time, dressed and ready for bed, without Snape being the slightest bit aware she had ever been gone.


	7. Life, As We Know It

**Artist:** twisted-slinky  
 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or any related characters. Making no money here, as they all still belong to their prospective owners.

* * *

 **Chapter Seven: Life, as We Know It**

To say that her life had taken a strange turn would be a dramatic understatement for Hermione. Years ago, when receiving her Hogwarts letter, she surely thought that that would be the strangest day of her life. But, no, this life now—as a virtual slave to her former teacher—was the strangest thing to happen thus far. And while the situation was indeed part of the unusual-ness of it that was truly not what made it the weirdest. No, it was Snape that made it odd.

She was his slave. No matter what language Voldemort used to describe her situation and that of an untold number of witches and wizards of "impure" blood that was the fact. She couldn't use magic in any form, unless given permission to apparate. And she never had that permission, since Snape never let her leave the house—for her safety. The only concoction she was allowed to brew was tea—with no magical properties, just normal tea—and charm work of any type was strictly forbidden—and difficult to do besides, without her wand.

Hermione had heard enough and seen enough to know the situation amongst others of her blood-kind. They were treated as rubbish, ready to be disposed of at the precise moment they proved useless. Even purebloods—if they had not supported Voldemort—had it rough. But… Snape never harmed her. He never struck her. In fact, he hardly spoke to her. She had always imagined that Snape, outside of what she knew of him at Hogwarts, would be something of a talker. She didn't know why. Well, honestly, it was because she always thought he rather liked the sound of his own voice, especially when putting down Harry and pretty much any other Gryffindor.

But, no. Most days, the amount of words that passed between the two of them numbered probably less than twenty-five. She had seen the marks on some of the half-bloods and muggle-borns that had accompanied Death Eaters here to visit Snape. She knew they were beaten. She expected it herself, honestly. After all, who knew if Snape was really telling the truth about Dumbledore's murder? He'd murdered a man, a man who had vouched for him to the Ministry, what was to keep him from slapping around a wandless witch?

It never happened. The house was quiet, deafeningly so. Honestly, it was driving Hermione a little mad. The last they had spoken in more than just a few, necessary sentences—have you seen this, are you hungry, etc.—had been right after Voldemort's Victory Ball, before Hermione had snuck out for the resistance meeting. Snape still knew nothing of that, which was just the way she would like to keep it. Again, she had no idea how trustworthy the man actually was.

He was Headmaster of Hogwarts, a fact that Hermione kept forgetting. So there were stretches where Snape was not present at Spinner's End. The temptation was never greater to leave than in these times. But she needed to keep the resistance in mind. Without her being here, they had no direct line to Voldemort and his plans. And that was the reality of it. Snape was Voldemort's direct line. They were even shutting the school down earlier so the two of them could "rework" certain policies regarding those not of pure blood. Snape had assured her, the last time he had left for the school, that he would not be gone long this time.

It wasn't that she didn't enjoy being without her captor. She had not really explored the house much, despite having been in it now for about a month. She knew it had many rooms more than what she had visited, but she had typically kept to the kitchen, the lounge, the downstairs loo, and her bedroom. She knew where Snape's bedroom was, and there were at least three other doors on the second floor alone—where their bedrooms were—that she had no idea what they were. So, when Snape left this final time—usually he was gone for days, which led Hermione to believe that there was some sort of charm on the house to alert him if she left or to stop her from doing so—she decided to explore the house.

She found a library behind one of those upstairs doors, an upstairs loo (useful), another bedroom, and a small office. She had torn through the books in the library and raided the drawers of the desk in the office, but she found nothing. Nothing of interest, nothing to help her situation, just… nothing. She dared not enter Snape's bedroom—the only unexplored area of the house by day three of Snape's absence—in case he had that booby trapped too.

By day four, Hermione was seriously wondering if all these charms on the house were all in her head. She sat in the chair in the small lounge, staring down the front door of the home. After all, this was a muggle neighborhood. Could he really have charmed everything? Also, she had snuck out successfully. Was she just being paranoid?

By day five, Hermione was convinced. This house was dark, dusty, and while she enjoyed the fact that books seemed to cover every available space, she was starting to go a little stir-crazy. She could just leave. Just walk right out the door.

She then remembered, one of the few times in the past several times Snape had spoken to her while he was there, him discussing why he required that she did not leave without him.

"Voldemort is considering abolishing the Statute of Secrecy," he had said.

"What?"

"There are those within the Death Eaters on both sides of the argument. But those that are for it have gotten a little brazen about using their magic in public, muggles or no. This neighborhood will not keep you safe. Stay inside."

She had tried to argue, but he had gone from quiet, awkward host to former teacher in a heartbeat, ordering her to remain indoors for her "safety."

By day six, Hermione knew there had to be something he was keeping her from. Perhaps there was some news? Maybe the resistance had made a move? She barely got to see the Daily Prophet anymore, and when she did it was all propagandist rubbish about Voldemort—most in support, since he apparently had the paper now, as well as the Ministry. It was nearly time for the next meeting of the resistance, and she was going, come Hell or high water. She couldn't risk missing meeting with her only real connection to the outside world.

She had about convinced herself, as she stood in the kitchen, staring out the singular window there. She was going to leave. She had to know. Sure, Snape had spent time like this away before, but not quite like this. He usually checked in in about three days, but this was six days in, practically a week. Surely something was wrong, on one side or another. She was in complete isolation here, and she was going to lose her mind if it continued much longer. She had to know.

That was what kept playing in her mind as she turned, heading out of the kitchen. Over and over.

 _Have to know. Have to know. Have to know!_

She barely made it into the lounge when she thought she heard two pops, like the kind that usually follows apparition, from somewhere outside the house. She paused, turning around and dashing back into the kitchen. She ran straight to the window, which was facing the point where Snape usually apparated in. She saw no one. She pressed her face against the glass, feeling just a tad silly, trying to stretch her field of vision as far as possible. It wasn't until she heard the front door open and shut that she drew back. She exited the room once more, halfway into the lounge when the new arrivals made themselves know.

Snape had returned, but not alone. Beside him, in robes of dark gray, with that cold, unfeeling smile plastered on his lipless face was Lord Voldemort.

"Ah, Miss Granger. So lovely to see you again," he greeted.

Hermione was sure that, in that moment, her heart had stopped beating.


	8. Tea with the Enemy

**Artist:** twisted-slinky  
 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or any related characters. Making no money here, as they all still belong to their prospective owners.

* * *

 **Chapter Eight: Tea with the Enemy**

"Granger," Snape said, his voice now back in its domineering tone, "fetch the Dark Lord some tea."

She didn't move. She could feel her hands start to shake, that familiar rage building up inside her again. She clenched her hands into fists, holding them stock-straight at her sides. Her knuckles were white, she was sure, and her face felt like it was burning. Voldemort gave a single chuckle, just under his breath, and that seemed to be enough to incite Snape into action.

"I said tea, Granger. Now!"

He strode forward, snatching her, hard, by her upper arm. He dragged her back to the kitchen, all but throwing her inside. He shut the little wooden door between the two rooms, and Hermione could hear him speaking some spew of niceties to Voldemort. She couldn't hear the reply, if any, from Voldemort.

She was still standing still, her arm throbbing just slightly from where Snape had grabbed her. She wanted to scream, wail, rage and tear the house down. So long of Snape being nothing but awkward and polite, talking nothing of her safety, days with him gone, and now this? Right back into the lordly master role without a thought. No matter how _necessary_ it was, Hermione still hated it.

Tea. She had to make Voldemort _tea_. Was Harry getting tea, locked up in his gilded cage like some exotic songbird? And what about the others? Was Ginny having to serve Malfoy at his every beck and call? And Ron with Pansy?

Hermione felt a sting of pain and realized she'd been biting her lip this whole time. She hissed, swearing just a bit under her breath, as she rubbed her bottom lip. Her eyes cast about the room, staring at the cabinets and knowing—mostly—their contents. She had to serve Voldemort tea… maybe she could poison him.

She knew it wouldn't kill him. After all, she knew about the Horcruxes. But just maybe it would slow him down enough to stop him. She rushed to the cabinets, throwing them open. She found the tea quickly, knowing just where it was, but as she continued her search through all the other available spaces in the kitchen she found no poison. Not even a nightshade.

"What kind of Potions master are you?" she hissed, putting on the kettle.

Okay, fine. If she couldn't fight Voldemort head on, then she would have to think of something else. She was patient, and she was smart. There was a way to do this, and she would just have to figure out how.

It wasn't long before the tea had finished seeping in the pot. She found a serving tray—a serving tray, but no poison which made no sense to her, being the type of man she supposed Snape was—and quickly set the teapot and two matching cups—all plain black ceramic pieces—on the tray. She opened the door to the kitchen, lifted the tray, and tried to remember that she was supposed to be a humble servant as she moved out into the lounge to serve the tea. She held it steady with both hands, breathing deeply to keep those same hands from shaking the teapot and cups right off the tray. She was Hermione Granger. She had once fooled Dolores Umbridge into thinking Hermione knew some secret that Dumbledore was keeping, making it all up on the fly. This wouldn't be that different.

Right?

She approached the wing-backed chair—which Voldemort now occupied—and Snape, who sat across on the sofa, in mid-conversation.

"—unsure of the feasibility of this plan, my lord, if I may speak so," Snape was finishing as Hermione approached.

Voldemort did not immediately reply, catching sight of her. She set the tray on a small table at the end of the sofa closest to both men. She carefully—steadily—lifted the teapot, pouring the first cup and handing it to Voldemort, of course. He took the cup, laughing openly as he did.

"My, my… how well you've trained this one, Severus. It is to be commended," the Dark Lord commented.

"Well, this one did have a _mild_ intelligence. She is well enough aware to know what will happen if she disobeys," Snape responded.

Hermione gritted her teeth, hoping her closed lips keep the gesture hidden. Traitor or not, she knew that Snape had enjoyed that last comment. Voldemort laughed again.

"True enough, I suppose," he said, then, turning to Hermione, added, "I'll ask you a similar question as that I asked you at the Victory Ball… how do you like your new position of servitude?"

Deep breaths, she told herself. Take deep breaths and play the role. Think of the resistance. Think of the information.

Think about Harry.

"It suits me just fine… my _lord_ ," she grunted.

The laugh that followed was high and cold, and it sent a chill down Hermione's spine like a cube of ice sliding down her back. Snape snickered behind her back. She turned, seeing that he had not gotten his own tea. He arched a brow at her, gesturing lazily to the remaining cup. She bit the inside of her lip, trying to remind herself that this was the role, just the role.

But it was also Snape being a bit of an arse.

She served him tea. He sipped it, once, and sighed in satisfaction.

"Excellent. Now, leave. At once."

Hermione nodded her head, and scurried-without-scurrying from the room. She made her way toward the staircase just outside of the lounge, but instead of mounting it, she cast her eyes about. There had to be a place to hide within earshot. She was not going to waste this opportunity.

It took only a moment but she noticed a door in the side of the staircase. A cupboard under the stairs. She tiptoed over to the door, praying that it wouldn't creak or squeak when she opened it. She did so gingerly, finding it blessedly silent. She squeezed inside, finding it was filled with mostly books and coats, pulling the door just to. Then, she turned, pressing her ear to the sliver of opening she had left.

"Hogwarts is closed," Voldemort spoke. "Now that that is achieved, we must be doing more to separate those filthy mudbloods from our precious purebloods."

"I agree, of course, lord. I am just… unsure of the method."

"The method doesn't matter in the end, Severus. It only matters that they begin their education on subservience rather than usage of magic."

More slaves. Hermione's heart thudded against her chest. She thought of all those young, potential witches and wizards out there in the world who had no idea what they were coming into. She thought of herself, at that age, and tried to imagine what would have happened if this was the way the world had been. She would have been terrified, and her parents would have been heartbroken. After all, she supposed Voldemort did not intend to let any witch or wizard with muggle heritage to revisit their families after he had them in his grasp.

"More… slaves, then?" Snape said, shocking Hermione's thoughts away.

He sounded as wounded by the thought as she did. Then again, once his own muggle-related heritage was considered…

Voldemort made a noise somewhere between a laugh and choke.

"I detest that word! That is not a word that we should associate with our system, should we wish it to achieve!"

"Of course, my lord. I beg your forgiveness. Assigned companions, yes?"

"Much better."

Hermione was sure that punching the Dark Lord would accomplish nothing but her death, but just thinking about it was very cathartic. "Assigned companions," her left foot. Merlin's beard, half of the wizarding world was being enslaved and there was nothing being done about it! Where was people's gumption? Their sense of right over wrong? Their need to fight?

The resistance, she gently reminded herself. The resistance was all of that, just in its infant form. Deep breaths.

"I am putting this problem in your hands, Severus, as I have another… project, I'm working on."

"Oh? What project is that, my lord? If I may ask?"

Another chuckle. "Oh, you may, but I will not be sharing my little secret with you yet."

Snape apparently looked hurt—Hermione couldn't really see either man from her vantage point—but Voldemort let out another little laugh.

"You are my most trusted Death Eater, Severus, never mistake that. But no one but myself knows of this plan just yet. I'm… playing it close, as they say. I wouldn't want to raise hope just to have it dashed if it proves to be… impossible. But I am confident that it will bear fruit."

Snape sighed. "I offer my assistance in any way necessary, I hope you know, my lord."

"Of course."

"But… if I may inquire, at least, about its nature? Perhaps I can assist you now."

"In time, Severus, you may very well be helping me with this. I am aware of your supreme capability at potions. That may prove to be very useful. But its very nature? It's a weapon. One that I can use when I ready myself to expand my influence over the rest of wizarding kind."

There was the shuffling sound of people coming to their feet. Hermione readied herself to pull the door completely shut.

"My many thanks, my lord, for sharing so much with me. I will be working on our problem with those not of pureblood."

"Of course, Severus. I will be speaking with you again soon."

Then, without a word of goodbye, Voldemort swept out of Spinner's End, Hermione just barely closing her cupboard door in time to conceal her location. She counted to five, just to make sure Voldemort was truly gone—she was sure she had heard the front door open and shut, but just in case. She opened the door, stepping out beneath the wide alcove that separated the small hall containing the stairs and the rest of the downstairs rooms from the lounge.

Snape still sat on the sofa—or had returned to his seat after Voldemort's departure, Hermione couldn't be sure. He stared straight ahead at the chair that had once occupied the now departed Dark Lord. For a moment, no one spoke. Then, still without making eye contact, Snape sighed.

"I assume you heard all of that?"

Hermione could only nod in response.


	9. Held Accountable

**Artist:** twisted-slinky  
 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or any related characters. Making no money here, as they all still belong to their prospective owners.

* * *

 **Chapter Nine: Held Accountable**

Her fingers gripped the alcove, her nails digging into the plaster. Her anxiety was showing, but she didn't care. She had a reason to be on edge, given the givens. She took a breath, stepping forward into the lounge, pausing just a few inches shy of the table that still contained the tray with the tea. Snape was resting his elbow on the arm of the sofa, his face partially hidden by his hand. He still had not made eye contact with her.

"What does he want you to do? About the half-bloods and muggle-borns?" she asked.

This was no time for shyness or tact. Or her anxiety. People's lives were in danger, including that of her friends. It was time for answers and decisions. She moved around the front of the sofa, not taking the chair that Voldemort had sat in—which she now saw as tainted—rather just to loom over her former professor.

"Snape? What does he want you to do?"

Dropping his hand from his face only to run it back up and over his head, pushing his hair out of his face, he took a few deep breaths of his own. He finally raised his black eyes to hers, holding her hard gaze with one of his own.

"He wants me to ensure that they are… separated off once they arrive at Hogwarts next year. He doesn't want them sorted, he doesn't want them educated magically… he wants them put into training for better service of purebloods. Then, instead of seven years of education, they will receive four years of lessons in subservience. After which they will be put into the pool of half-blood and muggle-borns to be claimed by a pureblood."

"Four years? Just fifteen? That's not even legal age. Why so young?" Hermione asked.

Here, Snape shrugged. "That I don't know. He didn't tell me. I would wager it would be to make sure the pool is always full of choice for those who are actually allowed to practice magic."

"It's full _now_ ," Hermione growled.

Snape tapped the tip of his fingers on the arm of the sofa. He seemed to be in debate about something, silently. Finally, he reached into his robes, withdrawing a copy of the Prophet.

"No, it's not," he said, tossing the folded up paper to her.

Hermione caught it one hand, unfolding it, and instantly catching the headline. Her eyes doubled.

" _Half-Blood and Muggle-Born Death Toll Rising_ ," she read. "I don't… they're dying?" She paused here, considering and realizing the truth. She crushed the paper in between her hands. " _They're_ killing them."

Snape nodded. "Yes. My… compatriots, as it were, are not as gentle with their 'assigned companions' as I am, evidently. Some, I have heard, have been handed over to the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry… for trials, testing new spells and potions."

Hermione's chest was tight. Her hands still clutched the paper, and she heard her nails tearing a small section of it. Her mouth twitched, trying to hold back the wave of rage and sadness she felt. She swallowed hard, straightening herself into her full height.

"So, now what? You've got to start leaving bruises on me so we can _play the part_?" she whispered.

Snape's nails dug into the arm of the sofa and into the cushion beside him. His gaze dropped to the floor, and a snarl appears on his lips.

"Quiet, girl. You've no _idea_ of what you speak about," he snapped.

Hermione waved the paper at him. "I don't, do I?" She tossed the Prophet so that it landed in his lap. It scattered all over him, and for a second he looked shocked, but just for a moment. "People are dying! People like _us_ , in case you've forgotten!"

"I haven't forgotten, Granger. Believe me," he answered.

"But here you are, with no plan! You just seem to want to go along with it all! Let Voldemort do whatever he wants with the world!"

"Need I remind you? We're the minority now, Granger. And if we're not, then everyone else is keeping their mouths shut! Yes, Voldemort needs to be stopped. But it's not going to happen overnight, not unless you want even more bloodshed. Not with the current state of things. He has the Ministry, he has the school, and if case your memory really is spotty, he has _Potter_! For now, we do what we can to survive, until an opportunity presents itself."

The same words, again. It didn't make them any easier to hear. Hermione put her back to him, staring down into that vacant, dirtied chair. She imagined Voldemort sitting there again, gloating up at her. She pursed her lips, glancing over her shoulder.

"Can I really trust you?" she asked. She had thought the question a million times, but had never once dreamed of saying it out loud. She continued, "Killing Dumbledore, that was the truth? You really, truly want Voldemort gone?"

"Granger, right now, I too am in that minority as well, of people you should trust."

Hermione weighed these words against what she absolutely knew to be true. Other Death Eaters were torturing, maiming, and even killing their so-called "companions." Snape had only laid hands on her in public, to keep them from being found out. In private, he barely even spoke to her. He hated Harry, Hermione, and Ron, and now had the perfect opportunity to take out all that hatred on her. But he didn't. Hermione turned back to face him.

"Voldemort has split his soul, several times, into Horcruxes. That's why, at this present moment, he is unkillable," she said.

It was like a weight being lifted off of her shoulders. Now, maybe, the crusade that she and her friends had been on could be resumed. They could finally make actual headway into killing Voldemort.

"I know," Snape said.

Hermione's mouth dropped open. "What?"

"I know… all about it. Dumbledore, and later, after Voldemort's victory, Dumbledore's portrait told me everything."

He stopped speaking, but it looked as if he wanted to say more on the subject. After a second of internal struggle, he simply remained silent. Hermione shook her head.

"You know? And still… nothing. Why… why haven't you been looking for them? Trying to destroy them? Why are you still doing _nothing_?"

Snape shook his head. "You forget about the position we both find ourselves in. We must remain careful and vigilant. We would be unable to do so searching for Horcruxes."

"You're unbelievable!" she snapped. "How do I know you haven't come to like your new position of power at Voldemort's side? How do I know you really want him gone? I don't think you do. I think, not so secretly, you love being powerful and in charge. I think you hate your parentage, wish you _were_ a pureblood, and just love love love that I'm nothing more than a servant to you! If Dumbledore really had that plan, to have you kill him instead of Malfoy, then I think he died in vain! You have no sense of honor, of compassion… of anything but self-interest!"

At this, Snape launched to his feet, sending the scattered newspaper floating to the floor. He got squarely in her face, his eyes alight with an anger Hermione wasn't sure she'd ever seen from her former professor.

" _Shut up_. You have no idea—no idea!—what my motivations are for wanting Voldemort gone! But they are there, I assure you. You've always been such a know-it-all, unable to contain yourself. But it would be far better for you in the moment to keep your mouth shut!"

He didn't scream the words at her. She almost wished he had. He delivered his speech in a calm, cold, harsh tone. The words were sharp as they hit her, and the way they pierced her left her speechless. Unable to argue, unable to form her own hatred, she turned and left the room, forcing herself to walk calmly all the way up into her bedroom. She didn't even give him the satisfaction of slamming her door.

She walked over to her bed, pulling out the scrap of parchment she had hidden containing the information of the next resistance meeting. It was still a couple of hours away, again around midnight. She tore the paper up, knowing that having kept it so long was a risk, and threw the pieces away in a nearby wastepaper basket. She sat on the bed, in the darkened room, resolved not to leave it again until the meeting. She had done this long wait before and she could do it again.

A little less than an hour later, she heard Snape's footsteps climbing the stairs and entering his own room. His door didn't slam either, and for some reason, that annoyed Hermione beyond words. She approached one of the candles on the bedside table, touching its waxy form. It lit, not with her own magic, but with the charm placed on it that obeyed touch. It took a second for Hermione's eyes to adjust, but when they did, she could see that it was finally time for her to take her leave. She slipped out of her bedroom, tiptoed out the door, and headed for the edge of the property to apparate.

##

It was nearly midnight, and Snape knew he ought to leave well enough alone. But he was tired of feeling out of place in his own home, and, as much as he was loathe to admit it, he could imagine that the powerlessness that Granger was feeling—because of him, because of everything—had to be overwhelming. But she had to understand. She had to come to realize that if they acted too soon, then all hope was lost. Why couldn't she understand? Even the bloody Weasleys seemed to have gotten it!

Unable to sleep—mostly because he hadn't even swapped into night clothes, due to his annoyance with Granger—he exited his room. He moved to the room that he had given over to her, pausing—as he had done before—just outside her door. This time, however, he was determined. Granger had to understand it all. The girl was not without reason. If he could just make her see past her anger, however justified it was, then maybe his home could go back to feeling like the sanctuary it had been before all of this.

He knocked. Several moments passed, and nothing. Perhaps she had fallen asleep. It was quite late. He tried again. Again, nothing. When he tried again, he spoke curtly through the door.

"Granger, we need to speak. Wake up and answer the door."

Nothing. Sighing, and praying that his next action didn't lead to yet another argument with that insufferable girl, he tried the doorknob. She had not locked the door, and he entered the room easily.

She wasn't there. The realization was immediate. Granger was gone. Anger and panic washed over him. If she was discovered, she would be dead. Voldemort was not a stupid man. Snape knew that the Dark Lord had to be suspicious of one of Potter's closest friends. Parkinson and Malfoy were already acting as sort of spies for him concerning the two members of the Weasley family that Potter had been closest to. Snape, though volunteering, was supposed to be acting in that capacity for Granger.

But it was difficult to spy on someone who was gone. Perhaps she was snooping around the house, trying to find something she felt she could use against him? True, she had had plenty of time here alone to do just that, but Snape was desperate. He flew out of the room, going to every nook and cranny of his home, trying to find her. But it was hopeless. He had to face reality then. With her gone, he had no clue where to begin searching for her.

Time passed, at least an hour, with Snape pacing the floor in the lounge, trying to think of all the places Granger could have possibly gone. It was then that he heard the familiar pop of apparition from outside. He ran into the kitchen, gazing out into the night. Granger was there! She was coming around the edge of the house now, sneaking back inside.

This time, anger's mate was relief. Relief that she had returned, that their cover as master/slave remained intact. But…

How dare she? How dare she jeopardize everything? He thought, briefly, about confronting her as he heard the front door creak open. But he paused, remaining hidden in the kitchen. He was smarter than that. After all, he had already told her of all the dangers of being discovered. If he did it any longer, he might as well be preaching to a brick wall. Instead, he would simply watch her a bit more closely, and, more importantly, figure out where she had sneaked off to.


	10. A Plan, At Last

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or any related characters. Making no money here, as they all still belong to their prospective owners.

* * *

 **Chapter Ten: A Plan, at Last**

 _Meanwhile…_

Hermione arrived at the newest meeting spot, a huge empty field with a small knoll at the edge of it. It was somewhere on the outskirts of what she knew to be near where the Weasleys lived. Neville, Ron, Ginny, and a few others had already arrived, gathered at the crest of the windblown hill just a few paces from where she stood. She trudged up to the top, and found herself pleased to see that more of the Weasleys had attended, the twins as well as Bill, and that Lee Jordan had arrived. She had not been listening very much to the radio, part of the isolation Snape kept her in, so she had no idea if Potterwatch was still playing. But, she doubted it.

She smiled and hugged Lee a bit, greeting Bill, Fred, and George with hugs as well. She stepped back from her friends, feeling happier than she had in a very long time. Ginny was practically bouncing, she noticed, and Hermione narrowed a gaze at her.

"Are you gonna tell her?" she asked, aiming the question at Bill.

He grinned sheepishly, still ruggedly handsome despite the scarring left by Greyback. He looked over at Hermione, shrugging in an awkward way—something she had never thought of Bill.

"Fleur's pregnant. We're going to have a baby," he said, the joy almost radiating from him despite his obvious efforts at keeping it contained.

Hermione beamed. "Oh, that's wonderful!"

"Yeah…"

"What?" she asked, noticing the way Bill kept avoiding everyone's eyes.

"He's worried," Ron explained.

"With good reason, though," Ginny added.

Hermione pursed her lips. "Anything particular, or just the general state of the world?"

A cloud moved from out of in front of the moon, and things Hermione had once thought to be shadows revealed themselves in their true forms. Ginny's right eye was slightly swollen and turning the purplish-black of a bruise. Ron looked as if he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Circles were deep under his eyes, and he looked on the verge of collapsing from either exhaustion or… something else Hermione couldn't quite put her finger on. The joy of Bill's good news had momentarily made her forget why she was here, but now it all came crashing down upon her.

"Rumor has it that there's going to be a Mudblood Breeding Law passed soon," Ginny said, which garnered the attention of Neville, who had been gathering the rest of the resistance members.

"Did you get that from Malfoy?" he asked.

Ginny nodded. Hermione shook her head. A steely resolve seemed to descend over the group. Ginny and Ron were being forced to marry people they hated, and now Bill's unborn child might be in danger. And then, the ever present metaphorical elephant in the metaphorical room: Harry, caged like an animal. Something had to be done.

Neville had moved on, letting people know that he still had the coins from Dumbledore's army. He gathered them all while Hogwarts had still been in session, and he passed them around to the members now. Hermione smiled sadly as he pressed the coin in her hand. She had no idea where her original coin was now. But it did make her happy that they seemed to be forming a new Dumbledore's Army to fight Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

"We could call ourselves the New Order of the—" she began to murmur to Ginny, who hushed her quickly.

"Voldemort's name is no longer Taboo, but that title… that is," she explained.

And it _did_ explain a lot. She nodded. When Neville completed handing out the coins, he explained that his was the new master coin, and that he would use this method to communicate with them from now on. He grinned at Hermione, holding the coin up so that it glinted in the moonlight.

"I've been practicing. All thanks to your original idea," he said.

She laughed. "Knew you could do it."

"Now," Neville said, clearing his throat and addressing the group at large. "We've not been able to do much. I've established a safe house for myself, and a few others that are considered wanted criminals. If you ever find yourself in need of it, use your coin. I've put an extra charm on it that will lead you to the safe house."

"How?" George asked.

"Just tell it what you need."

The twins exchanged a look, but said nothing else. Neville really _had_ been practicing.

"As a whole, I'll be honest, we haven't done much. I've gotten a few half-bloods and muggle-borns to safety. But with Voldemort in charge of both the Ministry and the school, and not to mention the patrols he's got stationed just about everywhere of note, we've been very stunted in developments and in moving forward. I know that rescuing Harry is a priority… and one we didn't discuss at our last gathering. But Malfoy Manor is Voldemort's base. It's much too protected. Honestly, I could use some news. Something we could use to decide what to do next."

"Whatever it is we end up doing, it'll have to be quick," Hermione said.

Once again, she felt all eyes turn toward her. She stood a little straighter and continued.

"Voldemort came to visit Snape today. He shared with him his plans for the further usage of half-bloods and muggle-borns," she said.

From there, she launched into the full story, leaving out nothing save for Snape's total involvement. There were many members of this group—well, honestly, all of them—that would possibly discount what she was saying if they knew it came directly from Snape, rather than just her _overhearing_ it from him. When she finished, they were shaking their heads, and all looked just about as sick as she had when she first heard it.

"More slaves. Innocent kids coming from their homes, never to return and never to live their lives as the witches and wizards they're supposed to be," Ginny sighed. "We have to stop it."

"How?" Ron asked. "That's a lot of kids. How do we even stop it?"

"We need to find a way to contact the kids who would just now be getting their letters. I know that Dad's said that the Ministry has put a stop to them, those who aren't purebloods, but they'll probably start them back up now that Voldemort's got this plan of his," Fred pointed out.

"That's a lot of letters to kids we don't know," Jordan said, frowning.

" _Hogwarts: A History_!" Hermione belted suddenly.

Everyone looked at her like she was stroking, except for Ron, who was rolling his eyes. She shook her head.

"No, you don't understand. In the book, it explained that there's a magical quill and parchment that writes down the names of all the children that will be receiving letters on their eleventh birthdays, as they're born. It's kept at Hogwarts. It's in one of the smaller towers. All we'd have to do is get the Quill and the Book of Admittance!"

"Hermione! You're a genius!" Neville said.

"But… someone will have to break into Hogwarts… that's easier said than done," Ginny lamented.

"I can do it," Neville said.

Now, all eyes fell to him. He shrugged.

"It's not that I don't trust all of you, but I have ways inside the castle. That's all. I'd rather not say how."

Hermione understood. She may not have talked under Bellatrix's torture, but some others might, no matter how brave or strong they were. Especially if a loved one was threatened. Better not to put all the eggs in one basket, so to speak.

"Isn't the school being guarded by Death Eaters?" Ron asked.

"The Carrows. They do rounds. All I have to do is figure out their rotation, and we're all good."

"And… you're going alone?" one of the younger witches at the meeting asked. Hermione felt bad, but she did not know her name.

"I'd rather not risk a large group," Neville said.

"Makes sense," Hermione reasoned.

There was a moment of silence while all considered it. Finally, Ron nodded.

"Okay. I'll keep an ear open, see if Pansy knows anything about the school that we don't."

"Same with Draco," Ginny added.

Hermione couldn't help but feel a little uneasy that they had both used their would-be spouses' first names. She was sure that that had rarely, if ever, happened while they all had all at school together. But she said nothing of it. Instead, the meeting concluded, all feeling a little bit better about where they stood in the battle against Voldemort than they had when they arrived. The Weasleys' and Hermione were the last to leave, wishing each other luck and safety. Only when absolutely no one was left on the hilltop did she apparate to Snape's home.

She made her way to the front door, noticing that lights were still on. She crept inside as quietly as she could, but she saw no sign of Snape waiting for her. She sighed and scurried up the stairs. She shut the door to her bedroom behind her, happy that Voldemort had no idea what was coming to him… however small the action.


	11. Unexpected Visitor

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or any related characters. Making no money here, as they all still belong to their prospective owners.

* * *

 **Chapter Eleven: Unexpected Visitor**

Diagon Alley was no less busy, despite the new regime in charge of the Wizarding World. Hermione yawned, trying to stifle the move as she pressed close to Snape's elbow in she small crowd moving down the street.

"Did you not sleep well?" Snape inquired, not bothering to look at her.

She blinked. She had been a little more than surprised when Snape had told her that she would be accompanying him on this little shopping trip, which to her understanding was just to pick up essentials. It wasn't that it wasn't nice to get out and away from Spinner's End. It was just that Snape had seemed a little… insistent on it. And now, he was addressing her in public, and it wasn't an order. Truly, today was a day for little surprises.

"Um… I slept fine. I just… had trouble falling asleep at first," she answered.

Snape wrinkled his nose a bit, in a way that was really barely noticeable, but she saw it nonetheless. She stared at him as they continued down the lane, trying to figure out what about her answer would have annoyed him.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

"Quiet!" he snapped under his breath. "Remember, you are not to speak unless spoken to!"

Ah, yes. That's right. The public façade. She glared at him, still wishing he'd at least answer the question. They walked a few paces further, apparently headed toward the Apothecary. Finally, pushing out a breath that sounded like it bothered him, Snape answered, "Everything's fine. If you would just _remember_ that we have an image to uphold. We are not friends. You, are my—"

"Slave?" she muttered.

They came to a stop just outside the shop, Snape sighing.

"Unfortunately, yes. If I don't appear to be domineering over you, both of our lives end up in danger. How I wish your _cleverness_ would allow you to recall that one simple fact."

They were standing just to the right of the shop's entrance. Hermione crossed her arms, waiting for Snape to enter before her. But, after several moments, her former teacher made no movement to enter. In fact, it looked as if he were torn between two of the hardest choices in his life. Hermione's brow furrowed.

"What is it?"

He cast an annoyed at her, and she muttered an unfeeling "oops" as she realized she had just broken his rule again. After realizing that this gaze was ineffective, he rolled his eyes.

"It might cause suspicion if you enter this shop with me. It would make certain things… too accessible to you."

"Okay," she drawled.

"Then again, it would questionable for me to leave you here, in public and in a very crowded place, alone. Honestly, I'm not sure which is preferable."

Hermione groaned. "Then why bring me along at all? Needed the extra hands carrying your shopping?"

"If you _must_ know, I thought you might enjoy the fresh air. Or would you prefer going back to feeling like an ignored house elf?"

She huffed. "Fine. Just leave me here. I'm not a child. Beside, I'm wandless. What could I possibly do? Aparating away with nowhere to go isn't really an option either. Safety is a priority, isn't that what you've been saying?"

He eyed her, his eyes trailing up and down her figure until she was beginning to feel a little uncomfortable with the scrutiny. He arched a brow.

"Very well. If you, indeed, have finally realized that, then you will remain here. I won't be a moment."

He swept into the store, and Hermione felt the sudden, childish urge to stick her tongue out at him. She suppressed it, reminding herself that she had just argued that she was, in fact, not a child. She was an adult. Something she had trouble feeling while having to obey the will of another person about not getting lost or taken or whatever the hell he was afraid would happen to her in the minutes he would be inside the shop. She leaned against the display window, arms still locked in place across her torso, and blew a breath through puckered lip, making a little raspberry noise.

She watched crowds of people pass, none of them giving her any notice. In fact, most seemed to be walking with their heads down, like they didn't want anyone on Earth to notice them. She found herself vaguely wondering if they were in the same position she was in now, if they were so-called "assigned companions" following one of the few witches or wizards that had their faces turned up, laughing and smiling like they had all the time and freedom in the world. Well, if they were pureblooded and never did anything against Voldemort, then that was exactly what they had. Hermione's heart felt like a weight in her chest, her eyes becoming heavy-lidded with sadness. She was so distracted, trying to count those she thought might be slaves and those who might be the owners, that she didn't notice at all when two familiar faces suddenly appeared in front of her.

Gregory Goyle and Vinncent Crabbe stood, two hunking slabs of meat made human, grinning wickedly at her. Goyle guffawed a bit, moving to lean on the wall off to Hermione's left. She had felt wandless—re: helpless—many times over the past month or so, but never as much as now. Now, she felt utterly trapped. But damned if she was going to let these two know it.

"What are you doing here?" she snipped at them, as if they were merely annoying flies.

"Funny," Crabbe chuckled. "I was going to ask you the same thing. Snape let you off your _leash_?"

Another implication that didn't go unnoticed. Hermione glared at him, her former classmate, but found her mind drifting to whatever "story" it was that Snape was spreading about their situation. She made a mental note to ask him just what that story contained, as it was the story that would be getting back to her friends.

"Actually, he's just inside the shop. He probably wouldn't like it too much if he thought you were harassing his property."

It made her sick to refer to herself as such, but any port in a storm. She couldn't possibly stop them if they decided to take her, given her size and wandlessness. Again, though, damned if she was going to show it. She made sure her words had the right about of bite to them, keeping all fear or uncertainty out.

"I don't give a damn about where Snape is," Crabbe snapped.

She looked at him with a look of mock confusion. "You don't give a damn about where _your_ master's right hand man is? That doesn't seem like a smart way to live your life."

Goyle glanced at his friend, waiting to play off of his reaction no doubt. Crabbe seemed to have finally become independent from Malfoy, but Goyle still required a host of sorts to live his life. Hermione couldn't imagine a more parasitic relationship, and it deepened the disgust she felt for these two. Crabbe's lips seemed to contort with a list of words he knew he shouldn't say, until finally, he grinned.

"And how is _your_ life going, Granger?"

"What do you mean?"

Crabbe shrugged. "I mean, how is slavery treating you? Oh, yes, I'm sorry… I mean, how is being an _assigned companion_ treating you? Is Snape terribly strict? Is he quick to punish, like he was in school? And how does he punish? Surely he doesn't just sit you in a corner."

Hermione blinked. While she had understood the implication earlier, now she found it a bit dubious. Obviously, he was being deliberately disgusting, but there was something else there… like he was fishing. There was a gleam in his eyes that told Hermione that just this once, she shouldn't respond. And she turned out to be quite lucky, because at that precise moment, Snape exited the shop, fixing a withering stare upon his former students.

"Am I interrupting something?" he asked, letting the words stretch and lay weightily upon the unwanted visitors.

Goyle moved away from Hermione, stopping so that he stood just a half step behind his friend. Hermione concealed a smirk, just barely, behind her hand. Looks like she wasn't the only assigned companion in this grouping. Crabbe looked like he was ready to set things on fire with just his stare. But before he could answer Snape's inquiry, Snape continued.

"We're just leaving. If you could both, kindly, get out of our way?"

Goyle stepped instantly back, while Crabbe took barely a step. Snape gazed over at Hermione.

"Come along," he said.

He started off, with Hermione letting him just a few paces ahead just so she could openly smirk at the two impotent lumps who had ambushed her minutes earlier. Crabbe met her gaze, but she noticed something strange when he did. He seemed to be suddenly enlightened by something as he stared between Snape's departing form and Hermione's still one. She was pressing her luck, she realized, and moved quickly to catch up with the former Potions master. She dared a glance over her shoulder, seeing that Crabbe now had an eerie smile on his face, still pointed directly at her. She frowned, wondering what hot water she had gotten herself into this time, when she decide to put it out of mind.

They arrived just minutes later back at Spinner's End and entered to find that there was a faint tapping noise coming from the back of the house. Snape strode to the end of the small hall, opening the window he found there to reveal a small owl with a pile of letters. He tipped the owl—generously with a galleon—for its wait, and it flew off. Hermione made her way into the lounge, lugging the shopping with her, much to her annoyance. She sat it upon the sofa, beginning to sort through it so that it could be more easily put away. Hermione knew that Snape kept quite a horde of ingredients in his kitchen, and she had suspicions that he had quite a stash in his bedroom as well. But being as that was the one room of the house she had avoided, she couldn't confirm that.

She had stored away most of the stuff she knew had proper places, leaving the sofa mostly empty, when Snape emerged back into view, standing just over the small table by the sofa's arm. He was flipping through his mail, and Hermione took this opportunity to sit and just enjoy the quiet normality of this gesture. She listened to the almost comforting rustling of paper as he shuffled envelopes and smiled softly as she heard each one dropped onto the table. She finally heard, her eyes sliding peacefully closed, him open one of the envelopes. No sound followed for a moment. Just reading, she reasoned. But that thought was dashed when she heard an odd grunt issue from him.

Hermione opened her eyes, glancing up at him. He had look of indecision on his face as he stared at the baby blue colored parchment he held in his hand. Hermione glanced at the table to see the envelope—the same blue color, with silver decorative swirls—the parchment clearly came from lying face down on the table. She glanced back up at Snape.

"What is it?" she asked.

He looked very much the same as he had when he was trying to decide to bring her inside the shop or not. His eyes drifted above the paper, looking upon her as if factoring her into an equation. The hesitation was making her anxious. She stood, taking a step toward him and ready to snatch the paper out of his hands.

"What is it?" she repeated.

He flicked the paper toward her, allowing her to snatch it away from between two of his fingers. She flipped it around, and let her eyes scan the words scrawled onto it. She caught two names, Pansy Parkinson and Ronald Weasley, instantly, but her mind would not let her take in the rest of the wording. Her heart seemed to stop as she sunk back down onto the sofa. The paper was scented, like baby powder, and the lettering was done in black, rather than the eye-scorching silver of the decorations on the envelope.

It was a wedding invitation. Specifically, it was Ron and Pansy's wedding invitation. And when Hermione finally forced her mind to cooperate, she realized that the date was a little over a month away.

"Granger…" Snape began, sounded just a smidge apologetic.

She didn't look at him, and she was tired of looking at this invitation. But she just couldn't put it down. She held it, like a weapon, in both of her hands, seeing and not seeing it at the same time. A small groan tore her eyes from it finally, as she looked at Snape.

He was rolling up his left sleeve, and Hermione could see the Dark Mark burning there on his flesh.

"I have to go," he said.

She nodded, but he didn't wait to see her answer him. He was out the door a moment later. She sighed, turning her attention back to the dreadfully pretty piece of parchment in her hand. Her stomach tightened and rolled in the worst way as she let her eyes rove over the decadent wording that let everyone who read these things know that soon Ron Weasley would no longer be a bachelor. Her mind kept telling her to put the paper aside, to let it go, to stop staring at Ron's name listed so close to Pansy's, but she just couldn't.

The front door opened and shut, and that was enough to finally pull her mind away. Sighing, she stood, tossing the invitation on the table above its envelope. She turned toward the threshold, shaking her head.

"For Merlin's sake, Snape, I'm fine. Just go to the meeting!" she said.

But it wasn't Snape that crossed into the lounge. It was Vincent Crabbe, and he wore the most terrible smile on his face.

"Now… isn't that a little too familiar for your master, mudblood?"


	12. Most Foul

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or any related characters. Making no money here, as they all still belong to their prospective owners. 

* * *

**Chapter Twelve: Most Foul**

"What the hell are you doing here?" Hermione snarled.

She felt like an animal backed into a corner. She was weaponless, defenseless. And she hated to even think it, but without Snape, she had no one to save her. Hermione Granger had never needed anyone to save her—well, except for in the Triwizard Tournament, but that was a whole different situation. So the fact that she was cornered and wishing that Snape was there to dispatch with Crabbe… It possibly bothered her more than this ambush.

His wide body was just barely in the lounge now, making her feel even more blocked in. He had his hands in the pockets of his robes, as if to insult her with how safe he felt in juxtaposition with her situation. He was smiling at her, and she wanted nothing more than to cross the room and punch that smug grin off his fat face. But she stayed where she was, knowing that any sudden movements would cause a reaction she didn't have a plan for… at the moment. That was something she was working on.

"You know, I honestly thought it was weird," he said, glancing lazily about the room. "I've seen how the other slaves are treated. Hell, I've seen how my family's treated our slaves. They're marked, so to speak. Scratches, lashes, bruises. But you? I see you, and there's never a mark on you. You don't look wounded at all, in any way. You don't move like you're hiding wounds either. In fact, you look like Snape's damn girlfriend… his _willing_ slave."

He chuckled proudly at that, and Hermione grimaced. Why was everyone assuming that Snape was trying to be sexually inappropriate with her? (She hated to even think the word "rape.") What was he like when he was with the rest of the Death Eaters that they would assume this?

Hermione knew that the only way to form a plan was to keep this blowhard talking. (Crabbe talking, in length. Something she had never thought she'd see.)

"So, what? You thought you'd catch us in the act or something? That still doesn't explain exactly why you're here."

Her eyes darted, briefly, to the space between him and the other side of the threshold. He was broad, sure, but she was small enough that if she could surprise him, she could get around him. And if she could get to the front door, then she could get away and apparate. Snape would be pissed, sure, since he would have no idea where to find her. But if he was the good guy he claimed to be, he would understand that it had been literally fight or flight.

"Well, you see, all that noticin' led me to thinkin'… maybe the Dark Lord has put his faith in the wrong person. Maybe Snape really _was_ working for Dumbledore, even though he killed him."

She was inching her way toward that empty space between Crabbe and the rest of the threshold.

"Well, I'm not quite sure what you're talking about, but Snape's not here. So, if you'd like, I could just pass the message along…"

"Well, you can lie for him all you want, mudblood. But I know the truth. Not only is Snape a traitor to the Dark Lord… he's a half-blood."

That gave Hermione just a second's pause. She put her best confused face, shaking her head.

"That's not true. And how would you prove it anyway?"

"Maybe I can't. Not in a way that the Dark Lord would believe about his most loyal servant," Crabbe mused.

Hermione was almost past him, almost to the point where she could easily dart to the front door, when his meaty hands reached out and grabbed her by both arms. He was as strong as she'd assumed him to be. He held her steady, forcing her to look him in the eye.

"But I have a different sort of plan." He yanked free his wand, letting go of her for just a moment, not really enough time for her to do anything. "You see, the way I figure it is, if Snape mourns _your_ death, that'll be suspicious enough. Don't you think?"

She may be without a wand, but there was no way she was going down without a fight. She aimed her knee at his crotch and let it loose as hard as she could. He crumpled, still gripping his wand as he reached down squealing. She all but hopped over his bent form, reaching the front door in no time. She turned the door knob, pulling.

It wouldn't budge. What the bloody hell? She checked the locks, which were all undone, obviously. She tried again, putting all of her weight behind her as she pulled. Still, nothing. It had to be charmed. But… it wasn't the night before when she left and returned from the resistance meeting. What the actual hell was going on? What a _wonderful_ time for Snape to be thinking about her bloody security!

Behind her, Crabbe had recovered enough to take aim with his wand. He lobbed a curse at her, which she ducked and let hit the door, leaving a scorch mark. She knew better from her father's obsession with horror films not to run up the stairs, but since she couldn't get outside, she had to do something. She took a charge at Crabbe, who was just now getting to his feet, aiming for his shoulder. She hoped the shock of the impact would knock him back out of balance, at least enough so she could get to the kitchen. It worked as he teetered back on his right foot without being able to grab at her. He aimed another curse at her, and she zigzagged out of its way. She ran into the kitchen, slamming the door behind her with barely a thought.

Wandless and trapped in a tiny kitchen, Hermione started to let the curse words fly—none that would actually do her any good. She had to find a weapon. Something, anything that she could use to defend herself. Her eye caught the knife block and she threw up a couple of prayers as she grabbed the large butcher's knife from the top slot. She turned as the door began to open, hiding the weapon behind her back.

Crabbe was smiling again, tsking as he entered. He let his eyes survey the room, laughing just a bit.

"Trapped like a rat. Nothing more suitable for a filthy mudblood like yourself. Any last words?"

She gripped the handle of the knife she still hid behind her back as tightly as she could. She narrowed her eyes at her attacker.

"Go to Hell," she spat.

He chuckled, raising his wand. " _Avada_ —"

But he never got to finish. At that moment, Hermione lunged forward, jamming the knife as hard as possibly could into Crabbe's chest. It was surprising what adrenaline did for someone's strength. Hermione wasn't sure what she hit—it hadn't felt like bone—but the shock of it caused Crabbe's wand to slip from his hand, rolling just inches away from them on the floor. He sank to his knees, Hermione sinking with him as she still held onto the knife. He was gasping, like he was trying to form words his brain just couldn't think of. Horror crept into Hermione's mind as the full weight of what she had done finally sank into her. She let go of the knife, reaching instead for the discarded wand.

She knew that others' wands didn't work for just any witch or wizard, but they still _did_ work. It took her a couple of tries, but she got it into her hand, and tried her best, muttering all the healing incantations she knew. But Crabbe's heart pumped too fast, and there was no incantation to heal the dead. The light was gone from his eyes. _He_ was gone.

Hermione dropped the wand with a gasp. She rose, shakily, from the floor. Barely thinking, she stepped over Crabbe—the body—and back out into the lounge. She sat down on the sofa, curling her knees into her, hugging them to herself. Hot tears pooled in her eyes and spilled over. She stifled a sob—for no one's benefit but her own—but the tears continued to roll freely down her cheeks. She stared down at nothing on the floor, just letting it all weigh down upon her.

She didn't know how long she sat there—seconds, minutes, hours—but by the time Snape returned home, she was letting the sobs come and she had buried her face in her knees.

"Granger, what's wrong?" he demanded.

She couldn't articulate words. She tried, opened her mouth and ended up looking—she was sure—like a suffocating fish. Finally, she simply lifted her arm and pointed toward the kitchen. Snape practically floated through the lounge and into the kitchen. It took only a moment, but he returned to stand before Hermione. There was no malice or anger in his voice when he spoke next. In fact, it was as plain and unassuming she had ever heard her former professor sound.

"What exactly happened here?"


	13. Disposal

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or any related characters. Making no money here, as they all still belong to their prospective owners. 

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen: Disposal**

The tears had finally seen their end, but her queasiness had not. She managed to hold it back, just for a moment, by pretending that it hadn't really happened. That the explanation she was giving Snape was just some made-up tale. It made it just a bit easier to explain to him Crabbe just walking into Spinner's End, making claims that he knew that Snape wasn't a pureblood or loyal to Voldemort. Planning to kill her to get at Snape, to show his disloyalty to the world. She described trying to get out of the front door, the first time she got past Crabbe. Snape looked away on that, looking properly abashed. Hermione tried to make a mental note to come back to that point later. Finally, she had arrived at the crucial point in her story: describing Crabbe's death.

"After I-I stabbed him," she took a shuddering breath, "I tried to use his wand, to heal him. But, but, wands… they don't work as well for other wizards or witches as they do for their owners, I know that. But I thought, just maybe, maybe I could save him."

Snape was still standing before her, arms crossed across his chest, giving him a more intimidating look as his figure was enrobed in black as usual. When Hermione lifted her face to meet his eye, which she had been steadily avoiding, he looked somewhat amused. She was horrified by that thought, and knew she had to be misreading him.

"What?" she asked.

"Let me understand this… Crabbe tried to kill you… and you tried to… heal him?" he responded, and no, she wasn't wrong. There was a hint of mirth there.

How could any of this be funny? There was a bloodied body lying on their kitchen floor—did she just think of that kitchen as _theirs_? Her brain felt fuzzy. But there was a body in the kitchen, and he thought it was all so droll.

"Snape! What are we going to do? He's _dead_! Oh, Merlin… I think I'm gonna be sick," she murmured.

She finally set her feet on the floor, only so that she could place her head in between her knees. She remembered her mother teaching her this calming technique, since Mrs. Granger had battled with moments of anxiety. She drew in deep, calming breaths, until she felt sure she wasn't going to up-chuck her stomach's contents on Snape's shoes.

He was staring at her, waiting so patiently. When he had her attention again, he released his arms from their hold, letting them fall slack to his sides.

"We need to get rid of the body now. Before it starts to… deteriorate."

A now familiar wave of nausea washed over her, and her head was back between her knees. Breathe in. Breathe out. In through the nose, out through the mouth. That was the key. When she felt safe enough to resurface, she found that Snape's steady stare on her was now one of idle curiosity.

"What is it?" she inquired, still doing some deep breathing.

"It's just… strange. I thought if anyone out of the Golden Trio would be capable of keeping their head in a situation such as this, it would be you. Very surprising."

What the hell was that supposed to mean? Hermione's familiar anger was surging inside of her, and it was a lot better feeling than the sickness that accompanied the memory of plunging the knife into Crabbe's chest. Snape thought her capable of cold, calculated murder? What did he think of her, as a whole being, if he thought that possible of even part of her?

"He was my _classmate_ ," she began, outraged. "I went to school with him. He has family. Someone, surely, out there loved him. He had friends. He was a person! And I ended all of that. I killed him… like he was nothing more than a housefly."

The memory was back again, the sound of the blood, the smell of it—that heavy copper—that slack look on his face and the sound of his wand clattering to the floor. Hermione pulled her knees back to her chest. She felt the tears welling up again—where did they keep coming from? Surely she would be dehydrated after this.

"Granger… remorse is a good thing, believe me," he said, causing her to lift her gaze to his.

There was a beat of silence, while Hermione took the time to recall everything she had learned from Harry about Horcruxes. Snape was right. Remorse was good. It was normal. It was the natural order.

"You need to leave the room," Snape spoke again, unbuttoning his cuffs and beginning to roll up his sleeves.

"Why?"

"Because I'm going to move the body in here, and I need some potions so that we can begin the task of getting rid of our little problem at hand."

Hermione slowly stood, finding that her legs felt somewhere between "like nothingness" and "rubber" somehow. She was sucking in air now like she was trying to re-teach her lungs how to work. She nodded curtly, just once.

"What potions do you need?" she asked.

He returned the nod, a silent acknowledgement of her effort. "There are three bottles of a potion that are a grayish-black. They are in the bottom drawer of the chest of drawers in my bedroom. They're the only ones of that color, but I need all three."

His bedroom? The one room of the house she thought she'd never enter. She very much never would have guessed she'd enter under these pretenses. But she put that aside, letting her brain do some work for once.

"Grayish-black? What potion is that color? What do they do?" she asked.

He stepped less than an arm's length away from her, resting both his hands—sleeves now rolled up so that the Dark Mark was visible on his pale forearm—on both of her shoulders.

"They're a shrinking solution. But they're only meant to work on things of certain sizes—smaller, in this batch's case, so more of the potion is required for someone of the former Mr. Crabbe's girth. Now, focus, Granger. Go retrieve the potions and bring them back."

She nodded, turning and darting out the room. She was upstairs and in Snape's bedroom in moments. Light from a window nearly identical to the ones she had in her room illuminated a modest surrounding. The sheets and bedding were black, but nothing exotic, just cotton or some other common fabric. The chest of drawers located across from the bed—out of line with the foot of it by just bit—was made of some darker wood, with silver handles in the center of each drawer. The curtains that hung around the window were drawn back, and they were heavy and gray. There were nightstands on either side of the bed, of the same design as the chest of drawers—in fact, they looked like a set. Candles floated, unlit, above her head. No mirror was in sight. It was all so… simple.

She shook her head, forcing herself to focus. She approached the chest of drawers, kneeled and pulled out the bottom drawer. It made the dull squeak of lacquered wood on lacquered wood, but otherwise opened with no other resistance. The potions were easily located, as every other potion in the drawer—and there were at least twenty or more besides the three she sought—were very brightly colored. She scooped up the squat glass bottles, setting them on top of the chest of drawers so she could close the bottom drawer. Then, using a delicate balance, she cradled all three close to her chest and went back to the lounge.

She had set the three bottles down on the side table, on top of Ron and Pansy's wedding invitation, before she allowed herself to realize that her victim was now laying in the middle of the floor in front of the sofa. Her chest felt tight, yet her heart hammered harder than ever against her chest. Snape had managed to push Crabbe's arms down so that they lay stiffly by his sides. And he had, mercifully, closed his eyes. Hermione stepped over her former Potions master, curling herself into the sofa again. Snape did not acknowledge her with anything other than a passing glance as he gathered the potions and began to—one by one—empty them onto Crabbe's body.

It took only moments. Right before their very eyes, Crabbe's body, clothes and all, began to shrink. He went from being his normal size to miniature—big enough to sit inside a teacup comfortably—in mere minutes. The body made the strangest sound as it did so, like a deflating balloon. The need to vomit was rising up in the back of her throat again, but she swallowed hard, pushing it back down. The act ended up making her stomach flip-flop in the most unpleasant way. Snape was standing over his handy-work, a determined look of satisfaction on his face. Hermione shook her head.

"Why couldn't we have just buried him somewhere?" she asked.

"Because buried bodies are bodies easily found. And it would have looked even more suspicious if we had been spotted."

He was right, again. She was really getting tired of having to concede that fact. Snape stooped forward now, lifting the miniature lifeless body into his hand. He turned back her, tucking it into a pocket in his robes as if it were something as harmless as a watch or note or something.

"I'm going to go dispose of this. I'll return momentarily."

"Wait!" she protested. "I'll… I'll go with you."

"No. You need to claim as little knowledge of this as possible. I won't be gone long."

She fidgeted in her seat. In a move she thought him incapable of, he softened his gaze at her.

"I swear, I'll be right back."

She nodded, and with that he strode from the room and out of the house. She jumped a little at the sound of the closing door. She sighed, staring down at the floor at the three now empty potion bottles. She knew she should clean them up, the least she could do, and there was probably blood on the kitchen floor. They needed to Scourgify it. But she was rooted to her spot, hugging the arm of the sofa closest the table. Her mind kept replaying the facts of the past little while. She was murderer. Was it self-defense? Yes. Did that make it better? No, not to her, not really.

A fresh new guilt descended upon her, thinking about the war against Voldemort. Harry, her friend trapped in a cage… she and Ron and everyone else in the Wizarding World had expected something like this from him. They had expected him to kill Voldemort. They hadn't thought twice about it. How had that been fair? In fact, they still expected it of him, once he was freed. Sure, the circumstances were different… there were a lot more lives at risk. But still… not one person had stopped and asked Harry how he felt about that task.

She was still swimming in her guilt, tears teetering on the brink of release, when Snape returned. She didn't look up to greet him, to ask him what he had done with the body. She just kept her chin buried in her knees.

Wordlessly, he crossed in front of her and took the seat on the sofa right beside her. Her brain picked up, just a bit, wondering if she had ever been this physically close to her professor. His knee was touching her ankle—as her feet were still up on the sofa. She glanced over, just for a second, to see his hands clasped awkwardly in his lap. Then, after a moment, he lifted his right hand, resting it on her knee. She lifted her head, now fully staring at him.

"You did what you had to do… Hermione," he said.

Her name sounded strange coming from him. It didn't sound bad… just odd. Like, she wasn't meant to be so familiar with him. But his deep, velvet tones did nothing to really remove what she was feeling from her being.

"I feel like… I'm going to shatter," she said, shaking the words from her mind.

He arched that ever expressive brow. "What do you mean?"

"This is all my fault. Not just Crabbe, but Harry and Ron and everything. We were meant to stop him, to stop this… to end Voldemort's reign of terror once and for all. That was _our_ job. Harry was going to face off with Voldemort, once we'd destroyed the Horcruxes, but it was my job to make sure that he didn't get hurt before then. I was supposed to use my cleverness to keep him on the right path. And then… it's just gone. The whole world is just… gone. And now everyone I've ever cared about is wallowing in misery and despair, trapped in lives they don't want. And it's all. My. Fault."

She was sobbing by the end of it. She wasn't quite sure when it had started, but now that it had, she had no way of stopping it. Her breath came in heavy hiccups, tears rolling down her cheeks and nose.

"It wasn't right," Snape said.

She looked at him, sniffling. He continued.

"It wasn't right of any of us to place all of this responsibility on Potter, on you, on Weasley. You're… You're young. You haven't even gotten to complete your final year of school. It wasn't right. You shouldn't be carrying the guilt. And, Hermione, you shouldn't be carrying all of it yourself. You all did what you could."

It was so honest, so genuine. The guilt didn't vanish, but… it did lift. Her chest felt a little lighter, and she smiled a small, watery smile. She lifted her hand, gingerly, and placed it on his own.

"Thank you," she whispered.

He only nodded in response. She stood, muttering something about being tired—the sun had just freshly set—and made her way up to bed.


	14. Wounds

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or any related characters. Making no money here, as they all still belong to their prospective owners. 

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen: Wounds**

"I'll go," Hermione said, eyes swiveling to her.

It was past midnight, two weeks after her self-defense fueled murder—a little story about herself she had not shared with anyone else. She was in another abandoned building, somewhere in some little nowhere town. The resistance was ready to make its move in regards to getting the book and the quill from Hogwarts. And this was the meeting to suss out the details of said raid.

"You can't," Neville responded.

Her mouth opened, ready to fire out protest after protest, but Ron, shoving his hands deep into his pockets, sighed.

"He's right, Hermione."

Hermione had come here, sneaking out of Spinner's End after convincing Snape to lift that damnable charm off the door. After all, it had almost gotten her killed. He had acquiesced after that very same argument had been made, but had looked more sour than usual afterward. She had been quick to share the information she had gathered after spending a couple of weeks slowly prodding it out of Snape. As it turned out, only the Carrow siblings remained permanently at the school, patrolling it as needed. It was a large castle, and though being caught by the Carrows was a daunting thing in and of itself, the size of the castle and number of its guardians at present was definitely encouraging.

"Why not? Why can't I go with Neville?" Hermione demanded.

"You're our closest informant to the Dark Lord," Ginny said, crossing her arms.

She was surprisingly unmarked that night, but she still looked a little uneasy and not quite herself. It was hard for Hermione to put her finger on it as to why, but Ginny just seemed a little… off. Ron looked unsteady with himself as well, but Hermione attributed this to his upcoming nuptials—a matter everyone present had silently sworn not to speak about.

"Voldemort's gonna be at… well, at the wedding," Ron said, determinately not meeting her eye. "According to Pansy, he wants all the Death Eaters there… said he plans to reveal something huge to them."

"That sounds like it could be something to do with his plans to conquer the rest of wizarding kind," Neville noted. "Which is why I stand firm. You've gotta go with Snape to the wedding, instead of raiding the castle with me."

The plan to get the Book of Admittance and the Magic Quill stood as thus: during Ron and Pansy's wedding, while the vast majority of Death Eaters and Voldemort himself would be distracted, Neville would use his secret passage—located, he revealed, somewhere within Hogsmeade—to deposit himself inside the Room of Requirement. He would then skirt the Carrows to the tower, retrieving the items, and come back to his self-made safe house. Hopefully leaving Voldemort and his followers none the wiser.

And it was selfish, but… Hermione would much rather risk her life getting that book rather than go to Ron's wedding.

"You're the only one," Ginny reminded.

Hermione blew out a hard breath through her lips. She nodded. "Fine. I'll try to find out all I can… at the wedding."

Nobody met anyone's eyes for a moment. Finally, Neville cleared his throat.

"I think that ought to do it. We know the when and the where. And we know the what. I say this meeting is adjourned. Be safe."

With that, people began to apparate away. Ron turned, catching Hermione's eye briefly. He looked on the verge of saying something, and Hermione felt a little feathered hope well up inside of her heart. Then, he sighed, scratching at the back of his head while looking at his feet as if they were the most interesting thing in the world.

"Good luck," he muttered.

"You too," she whispered back.

He and Ginny were gone, and Hermione heaved a breath before she too left for Spinner's End.

##

The next few days passed without incident. It was quiet and oddly peaceful in Hermione's little bubble of a world. Too peaceful and too quiet. It felt like the calm before the storm or the last flash of light before the fall of night.

Snape had not been called to any meetings since the last one, and since they had shut the school down earlier, this meant that he spent just as much time at home as Hermione did. The former Potions master wasn't what Hermione would have called a flurry of activity in his home life—unlike he had always appeared to be in the classroom. He spent most his time reading or working on some spell or potion or another. She remembered Harry's sixth year potions book—formerly Snape's, although they had not known that at first. Snape was quite the accomplished wizard, creating his own spells and potions that were very effective.

Hermione, for her part, felt like something akin to a wraith. There, but not really there. She would begin by watching him work on some potion or spell, the way he would quietly mutter to himself, nose half in a book, half on his work. It was soothing to her, to be around something so purely academic. It made her feel like her quiet study times in the library. Something she had always enjoyed, Harry and Ron or no Harry and Ron. But after several minutes of watching, she would drift away. Her brain would start to emit a buzzing noise she knew as nothing but her mind playing tricks on her, and she would just feel like the room faded away.

She would begin to get lost in the maze of her mind, reliving flashes of the things that had happened to her since her first arrival at Malfoy Manor. It was like constantly reliving a nightmare in the waking world. She began to rethink her past decisions, trying to map out alternate roads though what could be considered alternate timelines, trying to figure out where everything had gone so wrong. And, more importantly, how she could fix it.

This began to happen, increasingly, in potentially dangerous situations. There had been one instance where she had been cooking and the oil in the pan had caught fire. It had burned for several seconds before she had even realized it. Had it not been for Snape, the whole house might have burned. There were more close calls, but at least nothing else that had had to do with fire.

It continued on like this, with Snape and Hermione barely speaking—unless, of course, out of necessity, or when Hermione felt like she needed some new information for the resistance. She would catch her former teacher staring at her, when she had stopped staring at him. He always looked… worried. Or maybe that was just how he looked when he was deep in thought. Whatever it was, he never vocalized his thoughts.

Until, one night, weeks after she had killed Crabbe. They were sitting, much as they usually did, across from one another. He sat in the chair that sat in the corner across from the sofa, and Hermione was curled into the end of the sofa next to the table—where Ron and Pansy's invitation still lay. She was already lost in her own thoughts, the room faded away to nothingness before her. It was Snape's sigh that brought it all back into view.

She blinked, as if emerging from the dark into the light. She looked up to see Snape staring intently at her, his black orbs seeming to hold her as still as a statue. She didn't say anything, only returned his stare, waiting. Finally, he sighed again, setting aside the book he had been leafing through.

"I'm… concerned for your well-being, Granger."

So she was "Hermione" when she was a murderer, "Granger" every other day of the week. That was an interesting distinction. When she didn't respond, only continued to stare, he went on.

"You've experienced something traumatic, I know. The taking of a life is not something to be so easily brushed aside. And with the upcoming wedding of Weasley and Miss Parkinson… I'm worried that when you drift away into your own mind, that it might become more of a trap for you, rather than a sanctuary."

Her eyes widened. He had… noticed. It was strange, but… she had just assumed he didn't care. The problem, as far as he was concerned, was taken care of. He had disposed of Crabbe's shrunken body, deliberately withholding details, and she had always assumed that Snape viewed that whole instance as a "that is that" scenario. But here he was… worried. Her… vanishings into her own mind weren't going to harm him, or their story. Rather, they would probably enhance their cover story, given what everyone apparently thought of their closed door lives. He could let this all go.

But he didn't.

"I'm okay," she replied.

He didn't look like he believed her. She smiled.

"Really. I'm fine. Or, as fine as can be. I _will_ be fine."

"You're stronger than this," he muttered.

He had broken eye contact for that little revelation, and it made Hermione grin. It was comforting, that it seemed to pain him to give her a compliment. It felt familiar.

He was picking up his book again, his job apparently done, but Hermione had found a new curiosity taking root in her. She uncurled herself from the sofa, planting her feet firmly on the floor.

"I can really trust you, can't I? You've told me the truth about everything you've done, right?" she asked, putting a little force behind her words.

He needed to understand how important this was. How terribly important it was that he was being forthright with her.

"I've already answered that question, Miss Granger," he answered, not taking his eyes off his book.

"I… I just need to hear it again."

He looked up at her. He closed the book with a snap, sensing that this was obviously going somewhere. He nodded.

"Very well. Yes, I've told you the truth. Yes. You can trust me."

"I believe you. Really. For the first time, I truly, truly believe you."

"Well, now that that's settled…"

"But it's not."

He seemed taken aback. "Pardon?"

"I mean, yes, I believe you've told me the truth… but not all of it. Just the parts you felt were pertinent. I think… I think I need the whole truth."

"… About?"

Hermione swallowed a big gulp of air. This was going to take everything she had in her.

"You said you had your own motivations for killing Voldemort. What are they?"

Snape stood, shaking his head. "I'm not talking about this."

She stood too, reaching out and grasping his wrist. He turned, a flash of anger in his eyes, but that look faded when he saw her own eyes. She needed this answer. He sighed.

"He… he killed someone I… someone I loved," he muttered, looking away.

"Oh."

It wasn't grand. It wasn't deep or meaningful. But that was all he had. In all of the reasons in all of the world, Hermione could honestly say she would've never picked that one as the reason Snape wanted Voldemort gone.

"Who was it?" she asked.

Snape straightened, turning to face her full on. He stared down at her, as if he could frighten her away like a first year. But Hermione was knee deep in this now, and she wasn't backing down.

"It doesn't matter," he answered, lamely, trying to turn away.

This time, Hermione darted around him, blocking him from leaving the room. It seemed like forever since she put her brain to any decent usage, but this little mystery seemed a worthy one.

"You don't want to tell me. That means… that means it's someone I know!" she declared.

"Let it go."

"You've done so much for the fight against Voldemort, including guarding Harry, despite loathing him. And Merlin, do you _loathe_ him. I mean, just because he's the son of the guy who was your tormentor—"

The proverbial light bulb shined on in Hermione's mind. She blinked at her former professor, as if seeing him for the first time.

"Harry's mother. Lily Potter… that's… that's it, isn't it? You loved her?"

Snape continued to refuse to meet her eye. He simply strode back to his chair, sinking down into it. But Hermione could feel it. She could feel the pain just radiating off of him. She pursed her lips, going back to her seat on the sofa. She stared at him, as he pulled back out his book—his personal shield, as it were.

She considered telling him about the resistance, and their plans, in that moment. She felt so solidified now in his loyalty that she knew he would not betray them. But the moment the thought entered her mind, she pushed it away. Neville was still considered a fugitive, and those secrets did not belong to her alone. It would be selfish to divulge them.

"Are you quite sure, then, Miss Granger, that you'll be well enough to attend Weasley's and Miss Parkinson's wedding?" he asked, lowering his book to peer over the top.

She nodded. "I don't have a choice but to be okay."

He put the book away once more, shaking his head.

"For what it's worth, I wouldn't take you with me if I didn't have to."

She smiled. "I understand. Because of my so-called status, right?"

Snape grimaced. "Not exactly. You see, the Dark Lord is aware of your former… shall we say, friendship, with Mr. Weasley. He specifically asked that I bring you, so that you could witness a 'proper union,' as he put it."

Hermione's nose curled in disgust, and just when she thought she couldn't hate Voldemort any more, she found a little more room in her heart to do just that.

"He's sadistic. _That's_ sadistic."

"You'll hear no arguments from me."

Hermione rose, nodding. She stretched, a yawn escaping. She made her excuses, heading off to bed, when she paused. She thought about what she had learned tonight, and she took what she knew of Snape into account as she strung the story together in her mind. Frowning, she turned around, hugging the wall of the alcove.

"Snape?"

He looked up at her.

"I'm sorry… for everything you've had to go through. Really, I am."

He stared at her, flabbergasted. Without waiting for a verbal reply, Hermione left for her room.


	15. Harsh Reality

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or any related characters. Making no money here, as they all still belong to their prospective owners.

* * *

 **Chapter Fifteen: Harsh Reality**

Whoever said that time healed all wounds was a liar. And time, itself… well, time was just a bitch. Somehow, though Hermione could not rightfully state how the days had passed, but passed they had and now it was the day before the dreaded wedding. Snape and she had made another trip into Diagon Alley straight to Madam Malkin's to pick out another set of dress robes. Snape, it seemed, was eager to keep up appearances in more ways than one, which shocked Hermione only marginally less than his revelations about his feelings for Lily Potter.

Wouldn't Harry get a kick out of that?

But Hermione had kept the subject a closed one, as it obviously caused Snape a great deal of pain. He looked almost physically wracked whenever Lily was even slightly referenced—which she had done only once, on accident, immediately following their discussion that night—so Hermione was sure never to bring it up—and she surely wasn't going to mention it to anyone else. As she had decided about the resistance, some secrets were not hers to share.

So now, they stood in the fitting room once more, Hermione clad in the red set of dress robes that Snape had allowed her to pick out for herself. She had never been the sort to waste time posing in mirrors, but she had to admit, she struck quite the figure in this dress. Its straps were thin and mostly decorative—with cloth flowers dotting them, all solid red—and it cut in a V at the neck. The dress came down just to her shin, and it had a bit of a flare in the skirt, instead of hanging close to her legs. Hermione couldn't quite put a word to her feeling—because there were certain words she was just simply not going to use—but it felt important that she wore this dress—this _particular_ dress—to Ron and Pansy's wedding.

Madam Malkin was out of the room, doing God knew what since the dress didn't exactly need altering, and Snape was seated in his usual chair in the corner. Instead of hiding his face in the newest edition of The Daily Prophet, he stared at Hermione, his chin resting on his knuckles.

"What?" Hermione finally asked him.

"Nothing. Just… are you quite sure that _this_ is the dress you want to wear to the wedding?"

Hermione frowned at him from over her shoulder. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"It's just very..."

"Uh-huh?"

"Provocative."

She really didn't know how to respond to that. After all, for anyone to know—logically—what was provocative or not, they themselves had to find it provocative. And Hermione honestly didn't know how to feel about her former professor, now owner, finding her choice of dress provocative. She decided to shrug it off and change the subject, fast.

"So, Voldemort wants _all_ of his Death Eaters to attend the wedding?"

She tried to poise this question as innocently as possible. But Snape's brow arched, ever so slightly, and she had the feeling that he was seeing right through her. Her face was growing hot for reasons she could not explain.

"Yes, with the exception of a choice few, we all must attend. Otherwise, I would _obviously_ not be attending."

Hermione turned, trying to peer at the back of her dress in the mirror. Thankfully, enchanted mirrors had the singular advantage of showing you your back without you having to stretch in any odd way. She liked the way the V in the back was set against her shoulders. She glanced back at Snape.

"So, why? Why does he want you all there?"

"Haven't the foggiest."

"Do you think that it has to do with the weapon?"

At this, Snape sighed and rested his hands in his lap, glaring daggers at her.

"Could you speak louder? I don't believe the diners at the Leaky Cauldron quite heard you."

"Sorry," she answered, properly abashed. "But… do you, really? I mean, what else could it be?"

"It could be, and then again it might not. As you can attest to, there have not been many meetings called lately. Unfortunately, we are all, quite well, in the dark on this one."

Malkin took that moment to bustle back in. She questioned Hermione about the fit, and when the younger witch said that it was perfect, Malkin then instructed Hermione to redress and bring the dress robes for packaging and payment. Once it was all said and done, Snape and Hermione were back at Spinner's End well before it was time for tea.

Snape did his usual afternoon ritual of sitting and reading, leaving Hermione with no instruction on anything whatsoever. Which was fine. The less she was ordered around like a slave, the less she felt like one. But now, without a wand and being unable to leave without Snape in attendance with her, she had very little to do. She would be damned if she was going to clean like a maid for him. Most of the shelves and books, despite Snape's avid reading habit, looked as if a duster had not touched them in a decade or more. If he wasn't going to care to keep them properly cleaned, then neither was she.

So she was back at square one. Truth be told, she should be taking up her free time with something a bit more academic. Since choosing not to return to Hogwarts for her seventh year, going instead with Ron and Harry, she had very probably fallen way behind the level that perhaps those who remained at school were at. But catching up without a wand was difficult, nearer to impossible.

When she looked up, she realized she had wandered upstairs, floating outside of the doors to the loo and her own bedroom. She frowned, knowing that there was nothing useful up here. She made her way back downstairs, hoping that Snape had not noticed her absent-minded wanderings. She made her way over to the bookshelf built into the wall on the right side of the alcove. She ran her finger across several spines, grimacing at the dust collected on the pad. Finally, she came to a stop at a potions book she had not heard of before. There _were_ some potions that didn't require wand work. It wouldn't be much catching up, but it would be some.

She liberated the book from its musty brothers, taking up her usual seat at the end of the sofa. Her eyes grazed over the ridiculous invitation to the wedding she would be attending tomorrow. Why hadn't they thrown that thing away yet? It wasn't like Snape didn't know where it was. But, nevertheless, it lay there, unharmed and unmoved since the day of its arrival—simultaneously the day that Hermione was attacked.

Doing her best to put it out of mind, she cracked the cover of the book, her eyes roving over the title _Everyday Potions Not Taught at School_ before she flipped to the first page of the introduction.

She skipped the first paragraph or so, flipping the page before she realized she had not so much skimmed as not read at all. She turned the page back over, trying again. The author was describing how some of the most useful potions were often neglected when it came to teaching curriculum. The author then continued to describe, in some detail, why these potions…

Her eyes were beginning to strain, not but a single page into the book. She lifted them, searching the room only to give them a break from the tightly formed lettering. They flitted across the invitation again, and she huffed before returning to her reading.

…why these potions were necessary. The author was advocating that the potions listed in this book—while rarely taught—were among the most widely used potions in wizarding kind. They were potions such as—Damn it all!

There was that damned invitation again, just sitting there! A constant hellish reminder in blue and silver of the horrible event she would be forced to endure tomorrow. A reminder of how much her and her friends' free wills were jeopardized. Ron didn't want to marry Pansy. He couldn't stand her! The fact that this thing had made it as far as this was laughable and sickening and horrifying and unbelievable all wrapped up into one.

Snape clearing his throat brought Hermione crashing back into the present. Apparently, she had stared away from the open book in her head, and instead was openly seething at the parchment invite beside her. She felt his eyes on her, and she turned, seeing that his gaze was not without its sympathy. Hermione decided to forgo pretense. She shut her book, tossing it gently to the other end of the sofa, and picked up the invite. She held it in her hands, staring at it but once again not really seeing it. Snape lowered his own reading material.

"I know how you must feel," he whispered.

She spared him a glance, letting him know that his words were being heard. He continued.

"I, naturally, was not invited to Lily's wedding, but I was aware of when it took place. I won't lie. It was torture. Worse than any Cruciatus I had ever endured."

That caused Hermione to lower the invitation out of her eyesight. She was sure that any mention of Lily was something of the most horrible difficulty for him, any way one could look at it. But he broached the subject… for this. For her and what she was going through. She cracked a tiny, watery smile.

"I can imagine how you felt."

Snape rolled his eyes. "Of course you can. Why else would I bring it up? But—" Snape stood, moving to sit on the cushion next to Hermione, as he had the day she had killed Crabbe. Without touching her, he held her gaze, and he continued. "But you must understand something. To remain alive in this new world, in this new life, you have to allow yourself to _mourn_. You need to let it out."

She blinked, her lashes wet with unshed tears. "What? I don't—Ron's not dead. Mourn? None of my friends are dead," she said, adding "yet" in a tiny voice.

He sighed. "You don't understand. You see, we have no real way of knowing what life will be like, once this is all over. Once the Dark Lord's reign is ended. There's no way of knowing how long the world will be like this. Weasley and Miss Parkinson's wedding, while forced upon them, will still be legally binding. Even after the Dark Lord is gone. No one can say what will happen to them during this interim. And, sometimes, enemies become lovers. Believe me. I… speak from experience."

Hermione's mouth dropped open, ready to protest. Ron hated Pansy! That would never happen! But before the words could make it past her lips, she paused. She thought back to the last resistance meeting she had attended… Ron had seemed almost forgiving of Pansy. And Ginny with Draco… it was like they didn't mind them so much anymore. Like… it was okay, being forced to be with these horrible people.

She lifted her eyes to Snape's, and then the tears began to flow. She sobbed, weeping into her hand. Before she knew what she was doing—so desperate for comfort, for the aching inside her soul to subside—she had leaned onto Snape's shoulder. She didn't care how damned awkward it was, she needed this. She needed to mourn and be comforted in that mourning—much like Snape had suggested. After several long moments of sobbing, she felt his arms rise, wrapping around her. He made no attempt to shush her or verbally console her at all. Instead, he simply let her cry, her tears soaking into his sleeve.

And it was better for her that way.


	16. A Really Bad Day

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or any related characters. Making no money here, as they all still belong to their prospective owners. 

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen: A Really Bad Day**

Were it any other day, the gardens that surrounded them would have been breath-takeningly beautiful. The flowers were in full bloom—roses of every color, lilies, tulips, petunias, and a dozen or so other varieties that Hermione could not name. She thought wistfully of Neville, and how he could probably name every single plant there. But Neville Longbottom was not here at the Parkinson home, awaiting the most dreaded wedding of the century. Instead, he was risking life and possibly limp to retrieve the Magic Quill and the Book of Admittance from Hogwarts while the vast majority of Death Eaters—and even their master himself—was distracted by the day's festivities.

Hermione was dressed in her soft red dress, seated at the very back on the last bench set up on the groom's side in this gorgeous garden. Beside her, dressed in a dark, deep green set of dress robes—so dark green they were almost black—was Snape. He sat with his back straight as a board, and in an effort to think about anything else other than the reason she was here, Hermione found herself admiring the man's posture. It made her sit a little straighter, and only after a few minutes of doing, so she wanted so badly to slump her back down into a hunch. But she didn't, wanting to show that she could do this—all of this—and come out unscathed.

A cold wind, like a macabre chorus preceding him, swept over the pair as Lord Voldemort slid by them. He paused, only for a moment, to grin at Hermione.

"Having a lovely evening, Miss Granger?" he said, the taunting tones in his voice noticeable.

She forced the most polite smile she could to her lips and merely nodded. Snape bowed to the Dark Lord before being waved back down to his seat.

"I'll see you, along with the others here, sometime into the reception, Severus. Until then, enjoy yourself," Voldemort laughed.

"Of course, my lord. Thank you," Snape mumbled at Voldemort's retreating back.

Hermione's face had transformed into a scowl without her even noticing. Her eyes followed Voldemort to the very front, sitting on the bride's side of course, glaring at him all the way until he took his seat. She held her gaze a moment longer, as if willing lasers to shoot from her very eyes into the back of his bald, ashen head. She blinked, her eyes moving to stare straight ahead, catching sight of Ron standing up at the altar. He saw her looking, and Hermione couldn't help but notice the slight sick look he had on his face. He looked apologetic as he held her gaze, but Hermione only shrugged, looking back to Snape.

This day, this moment, this wedding… it was all going to be much harder than she had let on. She felt eyes on her and glanced up to see Snape staring at her, eyes full of concern and sympathy that he rarely let loose in public. Hermione shook her head, a silent "I'll live" followed by a quick jerk of a thumb in Voldemort's direction. Snape nodded once, turning his attention back to the front of the ceremony. It was mere moments later when an unfamiliar song started to play and the guests began to stand. Hermione should have known that the Wedding March wasn't going to be played, not at a pureblood wedding. She rose to her feet, turning to see Pansy, in a dazzling white gown made of lace and satin, appear at their end of the aisle.

She took an agonizingly long time to reach the altar, and from there, the wedding proceeded in the most normal fashion Hermione could have imagined. There was the exchanges of vows and of "I dos" and then the kiss. She had tried to be strong, but right at the critical moment, she had shut her eyes to the scene. The onlookers applauded the new husband and wife as they left to make their way to the gardens at the front of the manor home, where the reception was being held. Snape blocked Hermione's exit off the bench, so she was forced to wait as he allowed everyone else to exit the ceremony area. Once they were alone, he turned to her.

"Are you sure you're all right?" he asked in hushed tones.

"Fine. Why?"

"You shut yours eyes and groaned during the kiss. I don't think anyone else heard you, but nonetheless…"

She had thought that the groan had been kept in her thoughts alone. She sighed.

"I'm _fine_. I swear."

"Well, you'd better do a better job than that, Granger. We'll be at this reception for God knows how long, and you've been struggling."

"Understandably," she snapped.

"Our lives are on the line. Keep that in mind. Now, let's go."

They rose and were in the front garden, unmissed, in moments. They stopped just past an archway made entirely out of sculpted shrubbery, Snape's eyes scanning the crowd. Hermione knew that she'd better not press any buttons here, where he would have no choice but to make an example of her, so she kept silent. Finally, he seemed to have found his target—the newly wedded couple, standing around a table that was really too tall to be sat at comfortably, laughing with Lucius Malfoy. When Malfoy began to move away, Snape found his stride again, nudging Hermione along.

She wanted to groan again, to beg him to stop. She did not want to talk to Ron right now, but mostly, she didn't even want to _see_ Pansy. The girl was insufferable, despite that descriptor being most often given to Hermione from Snape. But Pansy was something else that Hermione was not—a braggart. She wouldn't hesitate to rub the fact that she had married Ron Weasley, the boy Hermione had knowingly at least had a crush on for the last several years.

But now there they were, standing in front of the _happy_ couple. Snape forced the tiniest of smiles on his face, taking Pansy's hand in his and giving it a light kiss on the back.

"Our sincerest congratulations to the couple," he said.

Pansy's eyes found Hermione almost instantly. There was a gleam there that she couldn't quite put a name to, but it was a nasty look on her smug face. Ron looked to Hermione as well, just a bit slower than Pansy had. Pansy crossed her arms in front of the lacy corset of her dress.

"Well, mudblood? Do you offer congratulations as well?" she goaded.

Snape stared at her. Hermione kept _that_ groan internalized as best she could. After all, Snape had said "our." But that little bitc… she took a deep breath.

"Yes. Congratulations, Ron," she said, throwing in her friend's name just to spite the little wench standing before her.

It didn't go unnoticed, ruffling Pansy's proverbial feathers. Snape cleared his throat, made excuses, and the two began to move away. But not before Hermione had a chance to catch Ron and Pansy's next exchange.

"You don't have to be so harsh on her, Pansy. I mean, she's practically a slave, you know," Ron chided.

"Fine," Pansy huffed. "My gift to my new husband. But, I do wonder… what do you think your little ex-mudblood would think about the two of us having already slept together? I mean, I'm sure she expected it after this, but do you think it would just absolutely _destroy_ her to know how you've been sneaking into my room these past several nights?"

Hermione swallowed hard. She dared a glance over her shoulder, and Pansy's gaze was only half on Ron. The other half was planted squarely on Hermione. Ron scratched at the back of his head nervously, oblivious to the fact that Pansy was deliberately saying these things within earshot of Hermione.

"That… doesn't matter anymore. You're my wife," he murmured.

Hermione felt like her heart had stopped. She just stood there for a moment, stricken by the information. And she noticed it, for the first time, really noticed how Snape had been right. Ron was different with Pansy now. He spoke to her differently… like… like someone he'd grown accustomed to or something. It wasn't love. It was tolerance. And tolerance could become anything.

Hermione turned her attention straight ahead and noticed that Snape had kept moving. She jogged a bit to catch up, knowing that he must have been well out of earshot for all of that. They came to a stop at another of one of the too-tall tables—apparently they were there to encourage socialization; the actual tabletop came to right below Hermione's breasts. She shook her head, willing the tears that had yet to form to stop before they could. Snape arched a brow.

"What's wrong?"

She shook her head, not trusting herself to voice the whole thing over again. She waved her hand a bit, and stepped away—not too far—to collect herself. Snape's attention left her. She would tell him later, back at Spinner's End, where she could have a good cry over it. It was odd, to think that she felt safer crying in front of Snape rather than anywhere else at the moment, but it was the truth. He had seen her cry now, several times, and had even saved her when it came to dealing with the aftermath of killing Crabbe.

" _You_!" a voice growled, somehow reaching them over the small din of the gathered party-goers.

Both Snape's and Hermione's heads swiveled, watching as the speaker approached them, flanked by two other figures. Crabbe Sr., tailed closely by Draco Malfoy, and he by Ginny. Hermione blinked and stepped a bit closer. This was the first time she had spotted Ginny, and she was happy to see that her friend remained unmarked by her husband-to-be's angry hands.

"I would think twice before addressing me as such, Crabbe," Snape snapped. He seemed to take a moment to compose himself before adding, "What is that I can assist you with?"

"You know damn well what you can _assist_ me with! You're a treacherous son of a bitch, Snape!" Crabbe Sr. continued to growl.

A stone was settling in Hermione's stomach. Meanwhile, Snape seemed the picture of ease. He forced a look of mild concern on his face, frowning just ever so.

"No news on Crabbe the younger, I see?"

"No, you bastard! My son is missing, and the last place his friend says he saw him was with _you_! But still, no justice! Vincent is gone, my son is gone, and yet you sit here, pretty as you please!"

"What have you done with him, Professor?" Draco asked, the fury in his voice kept to the edges.

It was like he was trying to keep it in check, as if he was aware that this was Voldemort's right hand man and the headmaster of his school that he was addressing—accusing. But the anger was still there, in the back of his eyes, like a growing flame.

"I assure you, I haven't the slightest idea where young Mr. Crabbe could be."

"Liar!" yelled Crabbe Sr., slamming his fist down on the table before them, causing both Hermione and Ginny to jump.

Why oh why had Hermione never thought that this would come up? She had been so wrapped up in the idea of Ron getting married, she had never once stopped to think that most of the Death Eaters would be there and what that would mean. The father of the man she had murdered in cold blood would be there, but she had never realized. Why hadn't she considered it?

"I would tread lightly, Crabbe. I don't take well to being slandered," Snape spoke, just as calmly and coolly as ever.

But there was an edge there too, something implied that was dark and deep and dangerous. Draco's eyes narrowed.

"Who are you to say that you're not a liar? You've been a double agent for years! Lying probably comes as naturally as breathing. Crabbe had said something about you, about your loyalties. It's enough to make you wonder, what with him missing and all," Draco said.

"My loyalty has never been in question by the Dark Lord, Mr. Malfoy. Your father's, on the other hand…"

"You leave my father out of this!"

Draco was moving closer, as if he wanted to strike at Snape. Ginny gripped his arm, just barely like she didn't dare grip him any harder.

"Draco… please," she begged.

Snape smirked. "Yes, Draco. You wouldn't want to agitate your bride-to-be, not in her _fragile_ condition."

Now Hermione _knew_ that her heart had stopped, and she was one-hundred percent certain that her gasp had been audible. She felt eyes on her, both Ginny's and Snape's. Ginny's eyes were nearly doubled their normal size, while Snape's were narrowed, as if hadn't realized that Hermione was still standing there…. Like he had wanted her not to be standing there.

"Drinks," she muttered. "I'll get us drinks, sir."

She bustled off as quickly as possible, heading blindly toward the refreshment table. She was stopped short by a pair of soft hands gripping her wrist. She turned to see Ginny, her hair flying in her face, staring at her like she'd seen something horrible.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," she said. "I never, ever, wanted you to find out like that! I mean, where does Snape get off—"

"This isn't Snape problem! Ginny!"

"I'm sorry!" she apologized again. But Hermione was having none of it.

"How could you? How could Ron? How could you… betray Harry, betray all of us, like that?"

Ginny hugged herself tightly. "You don't understand."

"Then make me. Please."

She glared fiercely back at her. "You're lucky, you know. Being stuck with Snape. Snape, who doesn't beat you. Snape, who doesn't feel the need to lord over you day and night, in public or in private. Some of us… we didn't get to be so lucky."

Was that resentment in her voice? Resentment that Hermione was a slave, versus her arranged marriage? What situation was worse? What was better? Hermione shook these thoughts off, knowing that it all depended on the variables. And she needed to know one of those variables right now.

"Ginny, was it… was it consensual? Did you consent to _being_ with him, with no doubt in your mind?"

There was a beat of silence, of hesitation. Then: "Yes."

Just when Hermione thought that sickening feeling was finally gone forever, she was hit with another wave of it. She contorted her face, allowing all the grief and anger shape it.

"How could you betray Harry like that?" she snapped.

"Like I said, you don't understand. I did what I had to do to survive. And now… and now I have my child to think of."

Without another word, Ginny whirled on her heel, disappearing back into the crowd. Hermione finished her walk over to refreshment table, pouring herself a glass of punch and downing it in one gulp. Merlin, how she wished it was alcoholic! She had not yet tasted much alcohol, just a sip of wine her mother had allowed her, and she had never understood the need to "drown your sorrows." Then, she supposed, she had just not had enough sorrows to drown. Now, she had just enough. And not a drop of drink in sight.

She looked up from her cup just in time to see a mass of people, led by Voldemort, into a tent that had been set up off to the left of the reception area. It was the meeting! The weapon…!

Hermione poured herself another glass and downed this one just as quick. She knew the risks. She was at a reception full of people unequivocally loyal to Voldemort. Spying, especially done by a "mudblood" like herself, was unsafe. It could cost her her life, not to mention what it would cost Snape. Hermione shook her head.

Screw being safe. She made her way to the tent, now full of Death Eaters, and began to search for the best vantage point for eavesdropping.


	17. The Product of War

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or any related characters. Making no money here, as they all still belong to their prospective owners. 

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen: The Product of War**

Severus was one of the last to enter the tent, and once inside, he took it all in. It was not enchanted to be very elaborate, like most camping tents. Instead, inside this one was a polished hardwood floor in a dark stain, and a small, round table that would rise to his waist if he stood right next to it. But he had no intention of doing so, seeing the black pewter cauldron sitting upon it, churning a foul smelling potion within itself. The potion was glowing and a deep acidic green, unlike any potion he had ever seen before. There were a few candles floating above, and they lit as soon as Voldemort came to a stop beside the cauldron.

Severus moved a bit farther into the tent, stopping when he was at the midpoint in the crowd of gathered Death Eaters. He took another moment to cast his eyes around. He noticed the Carrows were absent, as they were probably still patrolling the school. But Draco was here this time, his first real meeting as an official Death Eater. He noticed that Death Eaters that had forced to join—such as Percy Weasley—were absent from this gathering. This meant the one thing that Snape feared most. This potion… this was something big.

"Gather round," Voldemort instructed and the crowd inched closer.

They still gave the cauldron, kept churning by a small blue flame underneath, a wide berth, and Snape had a feeling that that was probably for the best. Voldemort was beaming, something Snape was sure he'd never seen before, as he looked over his followers.

"Behold," he said with a flourish of his hand. The potion seemed to react, churning a particularly large bubble to its surface and popping it with an audible sound. "A potion of my own invention. This, my dear Death Eaters, will be the weapon with which we conquer the rest of the Wizarding World!"

There was a mass of whispering and muttering. Severus remained silent, his eyes focused only on the Dark Lord and the potion beside him. Aside from his near-constant shield of Occlumency, there was only one other thing on his mind. Fortunately for him, Lucius Malfoy voiced it aloud.

"My lord, if I may… what does it do?"

It was easy to describe Voldemort's grin as serpentine, as most of his features were, but Snape had never seen a grin on the Dark Lord's face just _so_ serpentine. He waved his hand over the bubbling concoction, giving Lucius only half his gaze.

"Allow me to explain. This potion—which I'm calling _impura deprehendere_ —is simple enough. Once ingested, if even one ounce of your blood contains that of a _muggle_ , it will… kill you."

There was an outbreak of quiet delight, smiles, and cheers. Snape forced a grin to his face, all the while his mind racing. This potion, this weapon that Voldemort had spent so much time developing, was every bit as dangerous as he feared it would be. Knowing his own bloodline, Snape feared a round of testing to follow, but he quickly quelled that thought. He knew Voldemort's bloodline as well… the Dark Lord would not risk being called upon his parentage. At least, for now…

Snape forced the smile on his face to stay in place as Voldemort's eyes began to scan the crowd before him. Snape dared followed his gaze as it passed over Bellatrix—who looked delighted almost to the point of ecstasy; Crabbe Sr., and finally, brought to rest upon the Malfoy family—of whom all but the soon to be daughter-in-law was in attendance. Lucius, Draco, and Narcissa all visibly stiffened. Snape's smile vanished as he glanced back at the Dark Lord's face.

It was like the snake had caught its mouse. Confusion wafted over the former Potions master, as he was sure that Voldemort had granted forgiveness for the Malfoys' transgressions. Lucius had all but told him so months ago at the Victory Ball. And with Voldemort continuing to use the Malfoy's manor home as his base, Snape had never thought to doubt this. But perhaps he was wrong.

"Narcissa," Voldemort beckoned, her name escaping his lipless mouth in a hiss.

"Yes, my lord?" she answered, determinedly holding her chin up, proud and unshakeable.

"Come forward, my dear," he said, gesturing to the spot on the other side of the ever-churning cauldron.

She moved, the crowd parting like the Red Sea before Moses, to allow her passage to the front. She hesitated just before the cauldron—and the Dark Lord—but eventually, she took the indicated space. Voldemort's cold gaze was fixated upon her now, as if everyone else in the room had simply vanished.

"You seemed… less than happy about my new potion. Do you not like it?" he asked.

There was no hesitation now. She rapidly shook her head.

"No, no, my lord! I was… I was simply… I was simply surprised at the ingenuity! Truly, you are a master among wizards, to think of such an ingenious potion."

"Is that so?"

Those three words seemed to steal the very air from the room. Snape wanted nothing more than to shrink away from the room. He was never one to back away from a challenge, but something told him that the things that were about to follow were going to have a devastating effect upon everyone in the room.

"You see, Narcissa, I've also been hearing rumors. Do you know what they say?" When Narcissa simply shook her head, he answered, "They say that you have not be in total agreement with some of my decrees since I've taken over our government and world."

Her lips parted, ready to protest. He silenced her with only a single finger, adding, "Particularly my wanting your son to marry Miss Weasley."

"My lord, no!" Narcissa began, and suddenly Voldemort was livid.

" _Do. Not. Lie. To. Me!_ "

A nervous energy rocketed around the room, but no one dared speak. Snape turned to see Lucius with a death grip on his son's shoulders, the boy appearing to be on the verge of defending his mother. But every time Draco tried to open his mouth to speak, Lucius's grip tightened. Turning back to the problem at hand, Voldemort appeared a tiny bit more jovial. His eyes roved his rapt audience, the tiniest of dark grins on his face.

"After all… Draco seems very pleased with Miss Weasley, given her current… condition."

A small round of chuckles, and Snape's stomach churned with guilt. He could still see Granger's eyes, the shock and hurt in them, when he unwittingly revealed knowledge she did not have about her friend. He could feel the betrayal rolling off of her, and he feared for her, alone now in the crowd of the remaining wedding guests. Why did his mouth always have to get in the way in the heat of an argument or humiliation? Narcissa's next words brought Snape out of his reverie.

"Please, my lord, I beg your forgiveness. I should have never… I misspoke. Please. All I want is your forgiveness."

She bowed her head only, eyes cast to the floor. Voldemort's grin widened.

"Do you know what _I_ want, Narcissa?"

She shook her head, never lifting her eyes. He continued.

"I want a demonstration of my potion."

Snape's breath hitched, just for a moment. Voldemort waved his wand, a clear vial appearing in his left hand and a metal handle appearing inside the cauldron. Tucking his wand away, he lifted the handle, revealed a thin ladle, and poured the potion into the vial. He replaced the ladle, and offered the potion to Narcissa.

She didn't take it immediately, lifting her eyes and finding herself disbelieving to see the proffered vial. It seemed an eternity that she just stared at the thing, her hands rooted to her sides. If Snape stared hard enough, he was sure he could see the liquid reflected in her ice blue eyes. Finally, from somewhere around Lucius and Draco, Bellatrix's voice rang out.

"Well, go _on_ , Cissy. You've nothing to fear. Just drink the damn thing!"

A chanced stare back at the Malfoy family showed a shared look of confusion and brows knit tightly together, all no doubt wondering why Narcissa was even hesitating. Back at the front of the room, Narcissa's hand shook as she took the vial from Voldemort's hand. Even the Dark Lord looked a bit confused.

"Your sister is right. You're pureblooded, are you not? You've nothing to fear. Drink."

She eyed the vial as if it would transmogrify into some horrifying creature and devour her right on the spot. The group around her held their collective breath as she tipped the vial back and swallowed it in one gulp. For a moment, nothing happened. Everyone sighed a silent sigh of relief, and grins and chattering was starting up anew. Even the Dark Lord was turning away, readying himself to address his followers as a whole once more. He no sooner opened his mouth to speak when it happened.

Narcissa shrieked loud enough to shake the tent. She was clawing at her throat, vial dropped and shattered on the floor. Her nails dug into her pale flesh, strips of bright crimson blood following their tracks. She continued to scream and scream until smoke appeared from her very mouth. The smell of burning flesh filled the room, and when she dropped to her knees, everyone—even Voldemort—took a step back. Finally, her hands fell limp, her screaming stopped, and she slumped forward onto the floor.

Narcissa Malfoy lived no more.


	18. Necessary Risks

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or any related characters. Making no money here, as they all still belong to their prospective owners. 

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen: Necessary Risks**

Hermione pressed her hand to her mouth as tightly as she could, suppressing the screams held within. Her eyes were locked on Narcissa's limp form, the pool of blood surrounding her head, dying her white-blonde hair a faint shade of pink. But it seemed that the attention within the tent had shifted toward the back, and Hermione took extra precaution with staying hidden. It didn't take long, even from the outside looking in, to see where all the attention had floated to. Bellatrix, Lucius, and Draco were all standing, stock-still, a look of horror on their face. Hermione could see just barely more than their profiles, but she could tell that Draco—particularly—looked on the verge of tears.

Suddenly, his Aunt Bellatrix's hands appeared on his shoulders, and they fell to the floor on their knees. Lucius followed soon after. Their heads dipped, and Hermione was sure now that she heard a dry sob escape from Draco, hidden just a bit from the small thud his knees had made on the hardwood.

"M-my l-lord," Bellatrix said, her voice much shakier than her form. "I—we—didn't know. We d-didn't know that we had-had such-such _filth_ in our veins!"

Voldemort didn't move. He didn't speak. Hermione felt her body going rigid. She hated Bellatrix Lestrange, and the Malfoys. They were cruel, hateful people who thought that their coldness and closed-mindedness made them superior to others. Not to mention their money. But this tension, this darkness that hung over them and their onlookers in the tent was unbearable. It was like being around Dementors again. She wasn't quite sure that anyone deserved that… Well, maybe Bellatrix did.

"I offer you my life!" Bellatrix suddenly squealed. Hermione's eyes went wide, and Voldemort responded with, of all things, a laugh.

"Oh, Bella. You always were so dramatic. What good would you be to me dead? Rise, girl," he said.

Bellatrix rose slowly, followed a few seconds later by Draco and Lucius. Lucius had a death-grip on his son's shoulders again, and he seemed to be holding him as close to him as possible without wrapping him up in his arms.

"You are one of my most loyal followers," Voldemort said.

"My lord?" Bellatrix questioned.

"I won't be killing you today. But know this: you are never allowed to bare offspring. I will not allow the further dirtying of the bloodlines."

Hermione's eyes flew to Draco as apparently he had a similar thought to hers: Ginny. This did not go unnoticed by Voldemort either, who chuckled.

"Your reward for your loyalty, young Draco, is your child's life. But you and Miss Weasley are to bare no more children either. Am I understood?"

Draco nodded, hard, before finally forcing out, "Of course, my lord."

With the situation apparently handled, Voldemort was returning to the cauldron, undoubtedly to discuss the varying methods of application for his newest creation. Hermione pulled away from the tent, eyes darting about. No one had missed her. Snape was inside the tent, preoccupied with the latest events, and Ginny was mad at her and probably not giving a damn about where her friend was at the moment.

This was all well and good for her. She reached into the bodice of her dress as she slowly trotted off for the cover of some flowery trees. She had hidden her coin there for reasons she could not have explained at the time. She supposed, subconsciously, she knew that this information she knew Voldemort had wanted to share with his Death Eaters at this wedding would not be able to wait. And her subconscious self had been right. The resistance needed this information as soon as possible.

The sun was just now beginning to set. Neville should be done, or close to done, raiding the school if all had gone well. She knew he was taking the book and the quill back to his safe house… and this coin was equipped to get her to the safe house if necessary. Neville had said just to tell the coin "what you need." She held the dull gold coin up to her lips.

"I need to get to Neville, please," she whispered to it.

It felt like the pull of a Portkey. One minute, she was hiding in the shadows of a tree and the dying light of day, and the next she was in… a room. A room she thoroughly didn't recognize. It looked like a rented room, with a bed in the upper-left hand corner, and an attached loo directly across the space from the bed. There was a comfortable looking chair in the corner opposite the door, and the entire place had a sort of rustic charm to it, like a room out of an old farmhouse. It even smelled faintly of goats.

She was alone in the room, but only for a moment. A second later, following the familiar pop of apparition, Neville stood before her, a brown burlap sack that reached down to his waist flung over his shoulder. He blinked, starting just a bit, before he relaxed into a smile. Then, immediately following the apparent realization that this was his safe house, he frowned.

"What's wrong, Hermione? Are you all right?"

Her face was set to grim and she knew it without glancing in a mirror. But she forced the tiniest of smiles.

"Personally, I'm fine. But… Oh, Neville, I saw the weapon. I saw what Voldemort wanted to show his followers."

Neville set his sack down on the bed, turning again to face Hermione with crossed arms. "What was it?"

She told him everything. She, of course, left out the part about Crabbe's father confronting her and Snape, and the fact that Ginny was pregnant. But she didn't leave out a single detail when it came to the potion itself, and what she had seen it do to Narcissa Malfoy. When she had finished her tale, Neville's jaw was slack with horror. He pulled it back up, with great effort, and shook his head.

"That's… there's not even a word to describe how bad that potion is. Abomination, maybe. That potion is an abomination to magic. And you… you left in broad daylight. You're taking a considerable risk."

She nodded, keeping the fullness of her disregard for safety to herself. "It couldn't wait." That was all the reason she was willing to give. She wasn't going to lament the willingness of her friends to… she didn't even want to think about it. Good thing was, Neville jerked his head toward the bag.

"You've got to see this, Hermione. I'm actually glad you're here. I think I've found something huge, but… problem is, I don't know why."

She followed him over to the sack, eager to have some happy news for once. "You got the book and the quill?"

"Yeah, I did. But… that's not all. Voldemort, apparently, was using the tower to stash some pretty important stuff. Well, look."

He pulled the bag open over the items with, and Hermione gasped. Inside, its double handles gleaming, was the cup of Hufflepuff, and beside it, its gems twinkling in the light, was the diadem of Ravenclaw. She could see the hilt of the sword of Gryffindor in there was well—apparently Bellatrix had dutifully returned it to her master, after taking it from Hermione, Ron, and Harry. A bright smile broke out, and she threw her arms around Neville, who look properly startled.

"You have no idea what you've found!" she squealed. "Neville! You're a genius!"

He wedged himself out from her arms, scratching at his head. "Uh, thanks. But how is a cup, a crown, and sword making me a genius?"

"These are—" she paused, wondering just how much she should tell him. He may be the leader of the resistance, but she didn't want to put him in any more danger then he needed to be in. "They need to be destroyed. Not the sword, actually. Just the cup and the diadem. I know that I should tell you why, but I just… I just don't think I should at the moment."

Neville looked at her for a moment, but then nodded solemnly. "I understand."

"Right. Well, they're hard to destroy. They need to be destroyed beyond all hopes of repair. And we can't show these things to anybody… and really, Neville, if you're not about to destroy one, you probably shouldn't even be in the room with them for longer than a few minutes. Do you have a place you could hide them?"

He seemed to churn that thought over in his mind before nodding. "Yeah. So, how do I destroy them? The sword here?"

"Hmm. Maybe. It's worked before, but… I don't know. The object that the sword destroyed was significantly less than these items, if that makes any sense." She paused, thinking. What had Harry told her about the past destroyed Horcruxes? The proverbial lightbulb went off in her mind. "The Chamber of Secrets! There's a dead basilisk in there, and with it, a fang full of one of the deadliest venoms. It should be able to destroy at least one of these. We'll both have to think about how to destroy the other."

The sun had almost sunk below the horizon. Hermione was suddenly feeling antsy about having left the wedding. Even Neville had pointed out the risk. Maybe, if she could get back to Spinner's End before Snape, maybe she could convince him that she'd just gone home out of despair.

"The Chamber? Didn't Harry have to open that by speaking Parseltongue?" Neville asked.

Hermione was really getting anxious now as she realized, looking out the small window over Neville's shoulder, that full dark had come. She shrugged.

"We'll figure it out. I know we will. I have to go," she said.

He glanced over his shoulder, out the window, and nodded. "Go. I'll see you at the next meeting."

She hoped so. But she just nodded, apparating away to the point at the edge of Snape's property. Taking a deep breath, she skirted the darkness and just barely squeezed through the front door, trying to prevent any damnable creaks that might occur. The candles were lit in what she could see in the lounge from her position at the front door. She groaned silently. But as she tiptoed farther, she could see no sign of Snape. She entered the lounge fully, sighing to find both the sofa and the chair unoccupied. Maybe she had beaten him home? Maybe the candles were just charmed to light as soon as darkness was here and there as an occupant in the house?

She took a few unguarded steps into the lounge, eyes directed toward the back, where the entrance of the kitchen was. She had beaten Snape home, it looked like. Good for her.

That thought was knocked instantly from her head as a rough hand seized her wrist from behind. Her assailant whirled her about, shoving her back into the built-in bookcase in the wall that opened into the alcove. She winced against the protruding shelves and books in her back, forcing her eyes to clear from the quickness of it all to focus on her attacker. Her eyes doubled for the umpteenth time that day.

Snape was livid. He was actually, physically seething. His eyes were darker than their usual black—something that Hermione would've thought previously impossible.

"What the _hell_ did you think you were doing?" he growled.


	19. Slow Burn

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or any related characters. Making no money here, as they all still belong to their prospective owners. 

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**Chapter Nineteen: Slow Burn**

Hermione blinked. She had never seen him so angry, at least not recently. His nostrils were flared, and, it was just impossible but, she was sure his eyes just kept darkening. His hands on her wrists, pinning her to shelf-lined wall, were warm, no doubt radiating heat due to his rage. He was breathing out in huffs, as if he might produce smoke and fire at any moment like a dragon.

"Where the _hell_ did you go? You left in broad daylight! What if someone other than myself had missed you? Better yet, Granger, where have you _been_ going? What the hell have you been sneaking to, in the middle of the night, risking your safety and mine? What is going through that know-it-all head of yours?"

His words were loud, but still not quite yelling. It was the sharpness with which he spoke them that made them so terrifying. Hermione stared back, willing her wide-eyed shock to dissipate into a well-deserved anger to match his. She struggled against his grip, but as it turned out, to be so thin, he was actually quite strong.

"You're always so concerned with your safety," she spat, grasping at the first thing she could use against him. "There are others who don't have what we have, you know. It's selfish."

He pressed his hands harder into her wrists, his mouth twisted into a grimace.

"You would be _dead_ if it weren't for me, little girl, and my safety. I've compromised much to make sure you make it through this. The least you could do is—"

"What? Obey you? Because I'm your slave?" she cut in.

"The least you could do is _act like you want to live_!" he growled. "Now, where have you been sneaking off to, Granger?"

She struggled against him in vain. "Let me go!"

"Answer me!"

Hermione pursed her lips, rolling her tongue around her mouth as if it were in a fight. He had her pinned to the spot, both with his arms and body as well as with those piercing black eyes. For a moment, her mind wandered away from the anger she felt, remembering Crabbe's dead body and Snape's willingness to solve the problem. She remembered his comfort at getting the invitation to Ron's wedding. But she remembered, most of all, how he had shared with her his experience, with Lily Potter, to help her understand, to empathize with her. The anger was still swelling in her chest, and his eyes were getting no less dark, but she knew what she had to do. Honesty.

"I've been going to the resistance."

The statement was simple, and she had no malice in her voice as she said it. In fact, she had spoken those words as evenly as she had ever spoken before. For a moment, Snape didn't react. He just blinked at her, and for that same moment, Hermione thought his rage would subside. But that thought vanished as he gripped her wrists tighter, eliciting the tiniest of "ow"s from her.

"The resistance? Are you daft, woman?"

Her old friends, rage and anger, flared within her again. How dare he? That was wonderful news! There were those out there, right now, fighting against Voldemort. Isn't that what they all wanted? Her nose curled up as she jerked her mouth into a snarl.

"I've seen the potion, Severus! I saw what it did to Narcissa!"

Either it was the use of his first name or the fact that she had seen the potion in action, but that seem to jar him for just a moment. His grip slacked just enough for some relief. She sighed, but she noticed he still glared down at her.

"I've done all I could do to keep you safe, and all I'm hearing about is the reckless ways you've tried to end your life and the lives of your friends!" he shouted at her.

"Don't you dare!" she screamed at him. "Don't you dare mention my friends! You've no idea, no clue, what they're going through! You get to masquerade as Voldemort's right hand man, all the privileges you want! My friends? They're getting married off to people they hate, or trapped in cages like animals, or on the run, or I don't even know!"

His grip was back, and now he was pressed up against her, using his body to keep hers in place. She could swear she could see actual fire in his eyes, but she didn't care. She knew her own eyes had just as much flame to match.

"Don't talk about what you obviously don't understand!"

They'd abandoned all reason. They were both screaming, despite being literally in each other's faces. If she could push aside her anger, she supposed she would see the same things written in Snape's expression that was written in hers. The hurt, the anger, the rage, and… the fear. The fear she didn't like to talk about. But she was not going to give in; she wasn't going to quit fighting just because she could relate. She was done. Just done. Done being the slave. Done with everyone just going along with the world. Tired of being alone. And, frankly, just tired of being.

"It's easy for you!" she shrieked at him now. "You've got no one! I've lost everything! Everything! I Oblivated my parents! My parents! Now, I may never be able to undo it! They don't even know I exist!"

She heard the sob in her own voice, but no tears fell. She was just so damned tired of feeling like she was the only one who cared. Snape's expression softened, for just a moment. That's right, she thought. She hadn't told him about her parents. Her poor parents who, in the midst of everything, she'd barely had time to give a passing thought to. Another dry sob loosed itself from her lips.

"And Ron! And Ginny! How could they… how could they?"

Snape didn't respond, and now he seemed to just hold her there, against the shelves, listening. Hermione's breath was coming in huffs and puffs. She wanted to be done with this, done with the guilt, done with the pain. She needed to be done with it. She needed—

"That doesn't excuse—" Snape began, ever holding her in place, still angry.

She didn't give him a chance to finish. With just the inkling of a thought, she threw herself forward, locking her lips with his. He released her wrists in surprise, and she wrapped her now free arms around his neck. She parted his lips with her tongue, kissing him deeply. His hands seemed to hover just over her hips, but not touching, and he seemed hilariously frozen in place. When she came up for air, he seemed to be only able to stare, slack-jawed, at her.

At that moment, she realized what she needed—what she wanted. And it was selfish. And it was possibly for all the wrong reasons. But she didn't care. All she could think about now was how, in those few moments, being near him had just been so comforting. And now she wondered how comforting being _with_ him would be. Maybe her chest would finally ease, and she could release her anger, fear, and guilt with him.

He was still staring at her, just not so slack-jawed, with his hands still floating above her hips. He didn't look angry, but he did look like he might protest. Like he might pull away. She would understand, honestly. There was the age difference, for one. Not to mention that he had been her professor at Hogwarts—although, truth be told, the teacher-student scenario did turn her on just a bit. But, on the flip side, that meant that he had known her since she was a child. Maybe, just maybe, that was what he was seeing now.

She bit lightly at her bottom lip, totally aware that she was still practically hanging around his neck. She was moments away from running away in embarrassment, just forgetting everything she wanted in that moment, when he swooped in, wordlessly, and returned her kiss at long last.

##

What in Merlin's name was he _doing_? He was snogging Hermione Granger, that was the fact of it. She had kissed him, in a fit of passionate anger, and now he was returning the gesture full force.

This was wrong. This was the worst thing he had possibly ever done. Possibly. This girl was young, too young. In fact, she was… No. He was not going to count the years between them. But as his lips danced over hers, their tongues entwined in a dance just as sweet, he found himself moaning.

She just felt so good. It had been too long, way too long. Honestly, that didn't make it better. That made it sound like he'd shag anything with a pulse. That wasn't what this was, truly. But she was soft and hurting and the way she was clawing at him, like a kitten trying to keep from falling off the arm of a sofa, was so endearing, so tender, and so hot all at once. His brain refused to make the hard choice tonight. Instead, he let it rationalize. They needed this. He was doing this because they _both_ needed the comfort of someone's arms.

He moved off her lips, planting desperate kisses down her cheek and jaw, stopping at her neck. He nibbled, lightly, there, kissing and licking it as well. The moan that escaped her was so throaty and so full of lust that any images that were left in his mind of this girl as his child-student were obliterated. Now, he was only aware of her as a beautiful, consensual, legal adult.

Barely legal. Okay, so his mind was still trying arguments, but they were failing, fast.

She was still moaning as she finally unhooked her hands from around his neck, running them down over his chest. She grabbed a fistful of his robes when he tried an experimental bite on the neck he had been nursing. She gasped, and Severus dared a glance up at her face. Her eyes were fluttering, and her mouth was open, panting.

God, how long had it been since he'd been able to make a woman pant? He pulled her off the wall, a pang of guilt washing through him over his rough treatment of her earlier. He got his damnable anger from his father, and he'd struggled with it for ages. He hoped he hadn't hurt her.

He began to guide her over to the stairs and up them, and he found she was oddly good at ascending a staircase backwards. She only missed one or two steps, which only served her shove her sweet, puckered lips into his again. She paused in the hallway, already starting to unbutton the frock under his robes. He breathed into her neck, his hands moving up her sides, and he noticed a shiver at his touch. She seemed a bit indecisive about something, and Severus supposed it was to do with which bedroom to use. He gave her a gentle pull in the direction of his own. He opened the door with ease, pulling her in, now freely running his hands all over her body. He found that he quite enjoyed the way her pale skin gained gooseflesh wherever he touched.

And damn him for never noticing how plunging the neckline of her dress had been. Or how short the skirt. He turned her about, her rear pressed against the edge of the bed as he began to undo the fasteners at the back of her dress.

"Wait," she said breathlessly. She had already undone half of his buttons and had slipped the outer robes to the floor.

He stopped instantly. If she was having second thoughts, he didn't want to push it. He had done horrible things, but taking a woman against her will had not—and would not—be one of them. He met her gaze, and she was biting that bottom lip in such an enticing way. He could feel his nether regions beginning to stand at attention. He would need some definite alone time if she decided to stop, just like a horny teenager.

"I-I have to tell you something," she whispered.

She leaned forward, nibbling on his earlobe for just a moment. So, she wasn't going to tell him to stop. Wonderful. But, then…?

She was blushing, and her eyes darted away from his. "I-I've never done this before. With anyone. I mean, I've snogged, but… I've never been with a man before."

##

One would think that attacking your former professor—supposed master—with your lips would be the hardest thing to do in this situation. In fact, it was not that, but rather admitting that she was a virgin. She watched his eyes, searching her face. What was he going to do with that information? Her heart threatened to pound out of her chest.

Don't stop, she wanted to beg. Please, don't stop. She found herself biting her lip again.

Snape's face, hard with a passion that matched the one the burned inside of her, filling her belly and warming her in places she had never really been warmed in before, softened. It was like he understood her now. Like this revelation told him everything he needed to know. Her mouth quivered when he didn't immediately take up kissing her again, or reaching for her dress's zipper.

"Please, don't stop," she said, finally putting it aloud.

That seemed to do it. He dipped down, filling her mouth with his, and finishing with her dress. It slid easily off of her, once her arms were out of the straps, to the floor. She had opted not to wear a bra, since the straps had been so thin and she had not had one to match the dress's vibrant red, so she stood there now, in plain cotton panties and bare-chested in front of Severus Snape.

A look came over him that she could only describe as "an ache." He moaned, gently removing her hands and finishing off the frock. It was in the floor with his robes now, followed by the rest of his clothing in moments. Soon, they both stood in nothing but underwear. Hermione dared a glance downward to see the large—seemingly very large, if she had to guess—tent in his boxers. She, of course, had nothing to compare it to, as she had never even gotten underneath clothes before. But something about his manhood just struck her as very endowed. She felt less impressive standing before him, just feeling plain inadequate.

He moved her onto the bed, so gently now the fevered movements melted away to slow, deliberate choices. He moved next to her, kissing her face, her neck, her shoulders, and moving down her chest. She gasped when he took one of her nipples into his mouth, gently sucking at it while he rubbed the other one slowly between his thumb and forefinger.

She moaned and arched into his hands, and they made continuous movement over her body. Her hands were in his hair—it wasn't as greasy as she might have ever imagined—and he continued to plant chaste kisses in very not-chaste places. His hands dipped lower, wiggling underneath the band of her panties. She gasped as she felt a finger touch that precious bundle of nerves at the top of her opening. She gasped, her body going rigid with this new sensation of pleasure. She had heard some of the other girls at Hogwarts talk about sex with their boyfriends—describing certain things they had done to them. But she had never imagined it would ever feel this good. Her nerves were tingling with nervous anticipation. She wanted it all, now, now, now… whatever it "all" was.

Snape's manhood was now fully erect and pressing into her leg. He slid up her body, kissing her once more. She moved her hands down to his shoulders, moaning as he moved back to her neck.

"Snape…" she whispered.

He turned his head, positioning his lips just at her ear. "Severus. Call me Severus."

Hermione's whole body flushed a bright red. She grinned shyly as he began to remove the rest of their meager clothing.

"Severus..."

It came out as a whisper, but he must have heard it. He was tossing the underwear to the floor with a small smile on his face. Lying next to her, he pulled her close to him, sliding a hand back down below her waist. He toyed with that lovely little button, and she moaned and whimpered, especially when he allowed the tip of his finger to graze the edges of her entrance. She wanted nothing more than to feel it inside of her—a thought that was wholly new to her—and found that her hips kept grinding, uncontrollably, toward him.

He chuckled into her ear, making sure that his wicked little digit never got any deeper than the tip. She whined when he finally pulled his explorative hand away, cupping her breasts and kissing her deeply.

He was above her now, and Hermione—in her hormone dazed mind—wondered why she had never desired to see this before. It seemed the most wonderful view of her former professor that she had ever seen. She blushed, suddenly feeling guilty. Perhaps she ought to be doing more, to him? He seemed to be doing all sorts of heavenly things to her, making her feel like she was rapidly approaching cloud nine. Maybe she should try to reach him, to touch him.

But now he was positioning at her entrance, the tip of his organ gently brushing against the soft hair that surrounded her entrance. She moaned, arching again, and she was digging her nails into his back. He groaned, pleasurably, at this, but he kept a steady gaze on her. He locked eyes, dipping his face so low that their noses were touching.

"Are you sure?" he breathed.

No hesitation. "Yes."

It was slow. Agonizingly slow. But, once he was beyond the head, she found herself grateful. She felt herself stretch in a way she never had before, and she moaned. It was slightly uncomfortable, but the more he entered her, the better it felt. He stopped, and Hermione knew that he had not fully thrust inside of her. He pulled out, pushing in again, this time going a bit farther. She tightened her knees around him, wanting him to go oh-so much faster. Finally, she could feel him, _all_ of him. He was in to the hilt, and she grunted, making the most undignified noises. Snape furrowed his brow.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes!"

He smiled—a rare expression—seeming to understand now. He began to move, thrusting in and out at an even pace. Hermione felt the warmth grow between her legs, which were now wrapped around Snape's waist.

"S-S-Severus!"

He moaned, deep and animalistic, leaning down to smother her mouth with his. She still moaned into it, their tongues entwining in the most delicious way. He was gaining speed and force, and Hermione loved it. She was sure she was leaving scratches across his back, but he seemed to love that as well. He was grunting into her mouth, and the heat between her legs was beginning to slowly spread out to the rest of her body. She was on the precipice. She didn't know how she could possibly know that, but she knew it.

"I'm close!" she whined, pulling away from his wonderfully talented mouth to whisper into his ear.

"Come for me," he moaned back.

And that was all it took. The wave crested and broke, spreading that warmth from her center all the way out to the top of her head and the tips of her toes. She cried out, her eyes swimming and heart pounding. Snape's thrusting had gotten faster, to the point where he was slamming into her. He seemed to have lost some measure of control over himself, gaining in momentum until finally he began to jerk. He grunted as he finished within her, pulling her slightly off the bed to hold her against his chest.

She held on for dear life, enjoying the tremors that were still going within her. When he had emptied, he rolled just to her side—Hermione moaning a shocked little "oh!" at the sensation of him leaving her sensitive opening.

They lay there for a moment, no sound but their labored breaths. Then, suddenly, a thought occurred to Hermione. Perhaps it was something she should have thought of before. She rolled over, gripping his arm.

"Severus!" she squeaked.

He seemed to sense her panic. He turned to stare at her, all concern. She continued.

"I, uh… I didn't think. Um, prevention… protection."

It was crazy. They had just had sex together, but she couldn't force herself to say "birth control." Or the fact that she had taken none. He seemed to piece it together. He planted a soft kiss on her forehead.

"Just a moment."

He rose, going to the bottom drawer of his chest of drawers. She heard the polished squeak of the wood opening, and when he returned, he had his wand and a bottle in hand.

" _Lumos_. Here," he said.

He handed her the small bottle—about the length of her thumb—filled with a purplish-silver liquid. She arched a brow at him.

"A contraceptive. Drink it all, and you should be just fine."

She uncorked it, downing it all in one gulp—it wasn't entirely unpleasant; sort of peppermint-y with a powdered texture to it, like an antacid. Only when she put the cork back in the bottle, setting it aside on the night stand closest her, did she roll back over to face him.

"Can I ask why you have premade contraceptive potions?"

He chuckled, just a tiny bit. "Because the general assumption of why I saved your life was that I wanted to keep you, basically, as a sex slave. I presume the Dark Lord himself started this rumor, as he was the first I had heard of making such an implication to me."

Voldemort? Voldemort was the reason people kept implying to her that Snape and she were sleeping together? Not that that wasn't true now, she thought with a little laugh in her head. But, she had one more pressing question.

"So… how did that, exactly, lead to contraceptive potions?"

"Just in case we were investigated. I wanted to give the impression that, well… there _was_ a reason I saved you that wasn't detrimental to the Dark Lord's plans. I've been pouring them out and remaking them at regular intervals."

Hermione laughed out loud that time, ending in a wide yawn. Snape grinned at her, planting another sweet kiss on her right cheek. He motioned for her to move while he pulled the covers down—what a mess they had to be! They hadn't even bothered to move them. He didn't seem to mind, pulling them up and cleaning them up with a quick Scourgify. Hermione hummed as she was warmed, snuggling down into the blankets.

"Rest," he said.

She didn't need to be told twice. Soon, her heavy eyes closed, and she was fast asleep. When she opened her eyes again, it was morning. She was facing the window, the sun causing her to blink the sleep from her eyes. Her first thought was an instant replay of the night before. She knew what she _should_ be feeling. She should be regretting what she had done—what _they_ had done. But, crazy thing was, she didn't. For the first time in a long time, Hermione felt content.

She felt eyes on her back. She turned over, careful to keep the blankets up over her chest. She was ready to greet her bedmate with a bright smile and good morning, but she stopped short when she saw the look on his face.

Snape was frowning, deeply, a look of such pain stretched across his features. Did he regret her? She bit the inside of her cheek, so he wouldn't see. Merlin, she hoped not. The last thing she needed was another set of guilty feelings. She stared back at him.

"What is it?"

He pursed his lips, but he never looked away. He seemed to be mulling it over, whatever he was about to say. Finally, he sighed, his eyes sliding shut for just a moment. When they reopened, the pain there was deeper.

"You were so honest with me last night," he said.

She arched a brow. How was that something to cause him pain? She stayed quiet, waiting for him to continue.

"I have something I need to tell you. Something that Dumbledore shared with me, before he died."

She sat up, pulling the cover with her. "What?"

He took a deep breath, pulling himself up as well. When he exhaled, he seemed to shove the words forcefully from his mouth.

"On the night that Li—that Potter's mother died for him, the Dark Lord's soul fractured yet again, unbeknownst to him. It latched onto the only living thing it could find in the room at the time. It latched on to Harry."

Hermione gripped the blanket to her chest. "That means…"

"Voldemort cannot be destroyed… unless that piece is destroyed first. Which also means that…"

"Harry… must die."

Hermione's throat constricted, and she was sure that all these shocks were not good for her heart. Harry, her dear friend… had to die.

"Dumbledore said it was essential that the Dark Lord do it himself."

Another nail in the coffin. Hermione couldn't breathe. The world disappeared around her, and all she could do was replay her own words in her mind.

Harry must die.


	20. The Grand Reveal

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or any related characters. Making no money here, as they all still belong to their prospective owners.

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty: The Grand Reveal**

Hermione all but leapt out of bed, pulling the top comforter with her. She whirled, noticing she had left Snape nothing but a thin bed sheet, but that didn't matter to her now. She wondered, dazedly, if it should matter, but it didn't.

"What do you mean, you knew? You all knew, you and Dumbledore? You both knew that Harry had to—and you never told him, anyone!" she turned, almost hissing the words between her teeth.

"I'm sorry… Hermione," he said, hesitating before he used her given name.

And well he should. She shook her head. "And Voldemort has to do it? Why? Why him?"

"I'm not… I'm not sure. If it's any consolation, I swear to you I had very much the same reaction to this news."

"Screw your consolation!" she spat.

She glared down at the floor, where her clothes—tangled in with Snape's—lay. She knew she had to get dressed, had to get moving, but she also knew she wasn't putting on that stupid red dress. But she was in Snape's room. None of her clothes were here. She had very few options on how to proceed, so she went with the better of the choices for herself. She dropped the comforter, gathering up her knickers and dress, stomping out toward her bedroom. The sound of extra footfalls confirmed that Snape followed behind. Which was all well and good, since she wasn't done talking.

She slipped on the cotton panties, tripping a bit as she did, and tossed the dress on the bed. She didn't bother to look behind to see the funny little dances she was sure her ex-professor was doing to get dressed. Instead, she stepped to the wardrobe, pulling out a hooded shirt and pair of jeans. She—still dutifully ignoring Snape—then went to the top drawer of the chest of drawers in her room, removing a bra. As she begin to dress, she continued her raging.

"Do you have any idea? Any clue what withholding this information could have done? We didn't know that there was another piece of Voldemort's soul out there! After destroying the Horcruxes, what was the plan then, huh? Just send Harry off on his own, laughing behind your hands? 'Oh, he'll die anyway, then we'll be good to go!' How ludicrous!"

"I was intending on sharing the information, Miss Granger!" he snapped.

Back to "Miss Granger" now? She whirled on him, dressed in all but the shirt now. He was pulling on the white, buttoned shirt he wore under the notorious black frock with a million buttons. She sneered at him.

"Oh, yes, because _you_ have a right to be angry!"

He sighed, letting go of the top button and grabbing the frock off the floor where he had dropped it.

"You're right. But how was this going to come up in casual conversation, though? And would any of you have believed me?"

She mashed her lips together, sucking them back in like she had eaten a lemon. She pulled her shirt over her head, crossing her arms in front of it.

"No. So, how _was_ Harry going to find out?"

Snape looked away, and she could have sworn she saw his face flush red. It was the most color she had ever seen on his sallow, pallid skin.

"I was working on something concerning a pensieve."

Hermione let her arms fall to her sides. That was fair enough, but now… now that it was all changed, all different… She came to a decision she realized she should have before even leaving the bed.

"The resistance needs to be told. And Harry. Above all, Harry needs to know."

Snape closed his eyes, screwing up his face as if Hermione was poking at him with a mildly sharp stick. Finally, he nodded, turning to look at her.

"You're right. Of course, you're right."

She felt her rigid body relax, just a bit.

"But I want my name kept out of it, just for safety's sake," he added.

She stood straighter than she ever had in her life. Her eyes narrowed like a hawk zeroing in on its prey.

"So selfish!"

"Cautious!"

"Oh? So that's it? You don't have any faith in my friends?"

"Well, your _friends_ did get _captured_ by the Death Eaters or are on the run from them, one is married to Pansy Parkinson, while the other is expecting Draco Malfoy's child!"

There was a beat of silence, and their eyes met. There was hurt in both. Those words had crossed a line neither one was going to talk about. Finally, Hermione pushed out a harsh breath.

"I'm going, now, to the resistance. I'm going to call a meeting."

"Are you quite mad? It's broad daylight! You've taken too many risks as it is!"

"They have to know!"

Snape held up his hands plaintively. "I agree. All right? I agree. But getting you, or them, captured by meeting stupidly in the bright shining sun will help no one. Wait. Wait until nightfall at least."

He was right, and Merlin, did she hate him for just a little bit. Why in hell was he always right? She nodded.

"But I'm staying in my room. Here. All day."

He could take a hint. Looking more than a little crestfallen, he turned, quietly, and left, closing the door behind him.

Hermione stood by her word. She did not leave the room all day, thanking Merlin that Snape had magicked a door attached to the upstairs loo. Snape had brought several meals to her. She was not stupid, knowing that she needed to keep up her strength. She nibbled as much as her tensed stomach could stand, leaving the rest on the small table Snape had conjured just outside her door. He came to collect them as well, never once knocking or attempting to talk to her through the door. She was glad for that.

Despite her lack of regrets for the night before—and the funny, giddy way it made her feel to think back on them—she was still angry. But not just at Snape. No, that wouldn't have been fair. After all, he had just been following the orders of the wizard orchestrating the entire thing, the dearly departed Dumbledore. No, she was angry at Albus Dumbledore too.

That man… that genius of a wizard, was the closest thing Harry had to a father figure. Everyone supposed that man to be Sirius, but no, Hermione knew the truth. Harry had looked up to Dumbledore as a boy would look up to his dad. And Dumbledore had kept practically everything from him, from the very start. That bubble of rage that seemed to have made a permanent home in her stomach just seemed to hover within her, wanting nothing more than to break free in the form of a prolonged shriek or destruction.

Finally, somewhere along her seething, night fell. She glanced at the clock. It was barely ten in the evening, but she knew she couldn't dare way a moment longer. With a deep breath, she emerged from her room. She descended the staircase, and stopped, facing the lounge, for only a moment.

"I'm going."

Snape, from his place in what Hermione deemed was truly _his_ chair, nodded stiffly. "For Merlin's sake, please… be safe."

The nod she returned with was just as stiff. She went to the apparition point and left, arriving in Neville's room. Neville, who was gazing up at the ceiling as if he was trying to work out a puzzle in his head, jumped, nearly falling off the bed. He did, however, jerk to attention when he realized who his unexpected guest was.

"Hermione?"

"Call a meeting. I have some important news."

"More important than the potion?"

She nodded, and Neville lost no time. Using the coins, he sent the message out—the when and the where. It took only a moment, then, grabbing up his cloak, he approached her.

"The hill again," Neville said. "You remember?"

She nodded. They both apparated. It took some time, the two of them standing, silently, atop that grassy hill. Hermione had not thought to carry a watch, but she wagered it was at least an hour or longer before the other members of the resistance began to arrive. Fred and George, first, followed by Lee Jordan. Then several of the Hogwarts students that Hermione did not know by name. Ron seemed absent, and Hermione did not want to think what he would actually be up to, to miss this meeting. He had just been married. Shortly after the nameless students followed Ginny… but it was who followed Ginny that left everyone aghast.

Draco Malfoy, his white-blond hair shining in the moonlight, apparated into view, taking the smallest of steps to stand just at Ginny's elbow. Fred, George, Lee, and Neville pulled their wands, aiming it directly at him. Ginny threw herself in front of the wands, shaking her head.

"No!" she said.

"What the bloody hell is _he_ doing here?" Hermione asked.

"Voldemort… He has to be stopped," Draco said, his voice sounding like a man who had never seen water.

"What the hell? Ginny, did you Imperius him?" Fred asked.

"No!" Ginny cried, indignant. "Of course not!"

"He killed my _mother_!" Draco rasped. "And, despite his promise, I doubt my— _our_ —child is safe."

"I don't believe you," Hermione stated, plainly.

He whirled on Hermione. "I'll swear to it! Give me veritaserum! I'll drink it on the spot!"

"He's telling the truth," Ginny said, gripping her soon-to-be-husband's forearm.

"Veritaserum could be arranged," Neville said, thoughtfully. "Snape's bound to have some in his stores, back at Hogwarts."

Draco seemed to compose himself. "Fine. Go."

"Wait, how is he—?" George began, being cut off by the pop of Neville leaving.

There were several, several quiet moments that followed. Hermione began to get antsy, horribly aware that this visit to the school—unlike the one to get the book and the quill—had not been meticulously planned. But, at least a half hour later, Neville returned, brandishing a bottle that seemed to be filled with nothing but water.

"Give it here, then," Draco said.

"Three drops. It only takes three," Hermione instructed as Draco pulled the cork.

He sipped delicately at it, re-corking it and shoving the bottle at Hermione. After a moment, he sighed.

"Ask me anything."

Fred and George both opened their mouths, but Jordan held up his hand to stop them.

"I think he means something so we know he's telling the truth, boys," the former Quidditch announcer said.

The twins shrugged, and Hermione took the lead.

"You said that Voldemort needed to be stopped. Is that true?"

"Yes."

"You said you feared for your child. Is that true?"

"Yes."

Hermione pursed her lips as Ginny smiled softly. Hermione was in no mood for this. She pointed a sharp finger in Ginny's direction.

"Have you beaten her?"

The onlookers murmured amongst themselves. Draco looked pained, as if trying to fight the effect of the potion.

"Yes," he finally said, sounding as if the word had been wrangled from the very depths of his soul.

"Why should I believe that you would even love this child?"

"I love the baby even now," Draco said.

That took Hermione aback. But she pressed on.

"Would you die for your child's safety?"

"Yes."

"Will you keep the secret of this group?"

"Yes."

"Would you die for Ginny, baby or no?"

"Yes."

Gasps. Even Ginny looked shocked. Hermione ground her teeth together, a bad habit she had been broken of years ago by her dentist parents. She took a deep breath.

"Fine. Welcome to the resistance."

Neville clapped his hands together once, making sure that everyone followed his gaze as his eyes fell to Hermione.

"Now, why did you have me call this meeting, Hermione? You said it was important, more important than the potion."

She took an even deeper breath now. This was going to be the hardest thing she had ever done. But she did it. She told her friends, this resistance, everything. She told them about the Horcruxes—which she was pleased to find out that Ron had not previously told them this. She told them about destroying them, how many, and how this had been done. And, finally, she told them about Harry.

And, for reasons she could not rationally explain to herself at the moment, she heeded Snape's wishes and kept his name out of it. At the end of her explanation, no one spoke. Not for a long time. Everyone seemed properly shocked, and Ginny looked as if she were already mourning Harry's death. That little fire inside of Hermione, the one that flared up whenever she thought about Ron and Ginny's betrayals, stayed small. Draco seemed to have grown to care about Ginny… he wasn't going to hurt her anymore. She had gleaned that much, even if she hadn't asked the question directly. She found she couldn't be quite as angry as before. After all, she had already made some questionable decisions. But now was not the time to deal with those. She broke the silence.

"I've told Neville about the spare basilisk fang in the Chamber. The door has to be opened in Parseltongue, but I've just had a thought. What if we faked it?"

"What?" Neville asked.

Hermione shrugged. "I dunno. On muggle television all the time, actors are faking foreign languages and they sound real enough. Maybe that's what the door needs… not a real word in Parseltongue, but something that sounds close enough."

"It could work," Draco said, and several eyes flew to him as if he should not be speaking.

Fred and George looked particularly murderous. Neville broke the tension.

"What about the other Horcrux, the one that we don't use the fang on? And the snake, Nagini?"

"The Dark Lord is using my family's home as a base. I could just as easily poison Nagini," Draco said.

Hermione blinked, truly shocked. "That's a big risk."

Draco spared Ginny a glance that could have almost been classified as affectionate. "It's worth it."

"Then maybe we can come up with a really destructive spell for the other Horcrux," Hermione offered.

Everyone nodded. But no one was talking about the proverbial elephant in the room. No one was talking about Harry. Hermione was a Gryffindor. She was brave. She broached the subject.

"Harry deserves to know. To have a choice in this," she said.

They all nodded. Draco piped up again.

"He's more protected than anything else. I believe the Dark Lord is planning something. I don't know what. But it revolves around Potter, and he doesn't want him touched until then."

Hermione mulled this over. Then, looking up and around, she sighed.

"This isn't fair to ask of any of us, as we've all got much to lose, but… let's wait. Let's take our time, really think about this. We need to make sure no mistakes are made. We hold off. We hold off on the Horcruxes Neville found. We hold off on Nagini. We deal with Harry first. Let me… let me think. I'm… with Snape. Let me think it out."

"Right," Ginny said. "She's right. Harry comes first."

They all agreed. With a heavy heart, Neville adjourned the meeting. Slowly, people began to leave. The twins, Jordan, all of the nameless students. Finally, Neville turned to Hermione.

"How did you find all of this out?"

She smiled grimly. "You… wouldn't believe me if I told you. But I don't doubt that it's the truth. Do you trust me?"

"Of course we do," Ginny said.

"Thanks," she whispered. Raising her volume to normal, she added, "Let's all get back. It's gotten late. Can't have anyone suspecting."

And with that, the last of them apparated away, leaving the hill as solitary as it ever was.


	21. Reconciliation

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or any related characters. Making no money here, as they all still belong to their prospective owners. 

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-One: Reconciliation**

Snape had been asleep—or at the very least, locked away in his bedroom—when Hermione had made it home that evening. So it had given her enough time to decide what needed to be done on the home front, so to speak. When she awoke the next morning, she had a new personal mission—the objective of which she would have never guessed had someone told her only months earlier.

She dressed, trying to make herself look presentable as quickly as possible. She reigned herself in from bounding down the stairs, taking them at a leisurely pace. That had been harder than she thought. She was so eager to see Snape, to speak to him. She had had so much run through her mind the previous night, and had so many decision to make. But there were a couple that she found herself surprised to see that they were easily made.

She paused under the alcove into the lounge. Snape was in his chair, nose stuck in a book. A pungent aroma permeated the air, but not so strongly that it was coming from anything within the room. She supposed it was probably originating from the kitchen. Snape sometimes concocted his potions in there, and she really wished she wouldn't. On the nights she cooked after he had made a potion, she found that the aroma lingered for a long time. Sometimes, she even thought she tasted it in the food. She shook the thoughts on his potion making from her mind, reminding herself that she had more important reasons to be lingering in the alcove. She cleared her throat, lightly, which drew Snape's eyes to hers.

He closed the book, slowly, setting it back on a nearby shelf as Hermione took her usual seat on the sofa. They said nothing immediately, only staring. Neither one seemed to want to look away, for fear of losing nerve. Finally, Snape sighed.

"I want to apologize to you," he said, evenly.

"Oh? For what?"

Hermione was sure he had already apologized to her for keeping the information about Harry from her. And Snape did not seem like a man who would apologize twice.

He seemed to think it over, forming the words in his mind carefully.

"When I… get angry, or feel backed into a corner, I have a… let's call it a habit of blurting out hurtful things. I suppose I feel like I gain an advantage when I do so."

Hermione waited, quietly confused. Her former teacher sighed once more.

"It's what finally ended my friendship with Lily Eva—Potter. Fifth year, Potter and his friends were… bullying me. They had me hanging upside down, embarrassing me in front of crowd. Lily tried to stick up for me, but I was so… so angry. I called her… I called her a mudblood. In front of everyone. It's one thing on a long, seemingly endless, list of regrets. I'm sure Potter has told you about my memory he witnessed in the pensieve."

Hermione shook her head. "No. Harry never mentioned."

This seemed to weigh heavily on him. His eyes drifted off to some space past Hermione for just a moment. When he refocused, he continued.

"Well, my meaning is… at Weasley's wedding, I truly had no idea you were so close to me. I thought you were still trailing behind when I blurted out the truth of Miss Weasley's current condition." He paused, open mouthed, seeming to rethink his next words. "To be honest, I probably still would have blurted it out to distract from the conversation, but at least, had I known you were still so close, I would have thought harder about not doing so."

Hermione couldn't help it. She chuckled at this, just a little. It was a horrible thing to say, so very mean, but, Merlin, did some real honesty feel good after months of subterfuge. Snape looked rightfully bewildered by her response. After a moment, she calmed, putting back on her serious face.

"I have some things to say as well. First, I accept your apology. And now, _I_ want to apologize. I was… I was so angry, yesterday morning. I really want you to understand that it had absolutely nothing to do with sleeping with you! I have no regrets whatsoever about doing so. I just… I shouldn't haven't gotten so angry at you for keeping that information from me. After all, it wasn't just your secret to keep. And it would've been really hard to bring up earlier, I suppose, when I didn't trust your loyalties. It must've been really hard, too, keeping that a secret. What a horrible thing to have to do. I was just so devastated. My best friend…" Hermione sighed, blinking away the tears before they could fall. Collecting herself, she ended with, "So, I'm very sorry for taking all the blame out on you yesterday morning. That wasn't fair."

He was eyeing her in a strange way, one that Hermione couldn't quite describe. It might have been surprise, with a hint of intrigue. That one eyebrow of his was arched higher than she had ever seen it, and his gaze was roving over her form slowly. It made her feel like she was a bit on display, especially after spilling every relevant thought that had been on her mind since returning home from the meeting.

"You truly don't regret… what we did together?" he asked.

She blinked. Really? That's what he grasped on to? Meeting his eye, she just stared, waiting for him to explain himself.

"It's just, I felt as if I might have taken advantage of you. You were angry, and hurt. And the… situation we have found ourselves in for the past several months… and given that it was your first… I've worried over this. I'm not the kind of man who preys on hurt women, despite what I may have to do to secure my cover. I have always refused to do that."

That was refreshing to know. Hermione grinned, allowing one of probably only three girlish giggles she had ever given in her life to slip from her lips.

"No, Severus. You did not take advantage. I may not have much experience, and yes, I may have been upset, but it was very, _very_ willing. It was consensual." She paused, looking away slightly as she felt a blush warm her cheeks. "In fact, I was… hoping that it might be… consensual again… later today."

She dared a glance back over at Snape. He looked shocked, which melted away after a moment to smile she could only describe as suggestive. She realized she had never really seen many smiles on his face, and that she really liked the look on him. Then, as the smile faded, it was replaced by another arched brow.

"But?"

She heaved a deep breath, nodding once. "But first we need to address the ever looming, all-encompassing problem of Voldemort."

From here, she launched into a much watered down version of what had taken place at the resistance meeting the night before. She glossed over the acquiring of the veritaserum, and when Snape had tried to interrupt—undoubtedly to ask—she plowed ahead as if she had not noticed. When she finished, she looked at him expectantly. He was still, by all appearances, Voldemort's right hand man. He would have the best grasp of the information gleaned from Draco.

"Draco is very correct to worry," he said, the words hitting Hermione like stones.

Ginny's face was conjured to mind, contorting quickly to Ginny in pain and tears. Hermione's stomach twisted at the thought of another dear friend in immediate mortal danger.

"The Dark Lord's promises only extend so far. I have some… experience with that. The moment that promise becomes an obstacle to his goals, he will break it."

Hermione pursed her lips. "And I worry about Draco attempting to poison Nagini with Voldemort living right in his home."

"Yes. That would be most unwise."

"I… I don't think he'd listen to me. Or to any of the other members. He's desperate to protect Ginny and his child."

"Understandably."

Hermione grasped the hem of her shirt, twisting it in her hands. "I think, Severus, that maybe you should come out to the resistance. Show them that the information they are getting from me isn't just what little I've been able to overhear. I think if they knew we had a man on the inside, we could come up with better plans. And Draco would listen to you."

Snape shook his head. "No. I'm doing what I can now to keep us safe, Hermione. And sometimes I worry it isn't enough. It will be bad enough for me, for us, if it ever becomes known that I don't treat you like rubbish or abuse my power over you. Not to mention if it becomes known that I'm a half-blood. Add to all of that a direct connection to the resistance. It's risky enough, you running off with whatever you hear. No. It's out of the question."

Hermione felt that familiar anger—the one he had managed to make melt when he had touched her two nights ago—rising up. But she quelled it. Arguments were not going to get her point across. Only valid points. She took a deep breath, holding his eye with hers.

"Severus, you are the only one who can… who can get close enough to Harry. We won't act until Harry knows what has to be done. To make that choice. That can't happen without you. And if you don't join, others will try. Maybe Draco will try. Or Ginny. _Pregnant_ Ginny. What do you think Voldemort will do to them if they find them? You're the only one… cautious enough for this to work. Please! I trust these people. And I need them to know that all hope isn't lost. That you, Severus Snape, can provide us with our best chance at winning. Please, Severus? You have to do this! More die every day. More tortured and oppressed."

Snape looked at her, and Hermione returned his gaze with pleading eyes. He finally closed his. "Fine. Yes. But my involvement is to be limited. Only what is absolutely necessary. I won't… I won't risk you."

She smiled. Standing, she walked over to him and kissed him, softly, on the lips. Pulling away, she gave a decisive nod. "I'll contact Neville for another meeting tonight."

"Neville Longbottom is the leader of the resistance? Merlin save us all," Snape moaned.


	22. All In

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or any related characters. Making no money here, as they all still belong to their prospective owners.

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-Two: All In**

"Severus!" Hermione gasped as she felt his seed fill her. He grunted, rolling off to the side of her before collapsing onto his back. Panting, the two lay together, starting at the ceiling. After a moment, Snape gave a half-hearted chuckle.

"What?" Hermione asked.

Snape shook his head, sitting up on his elbows to better look over at her. "I'm just… surprised might be the term I'm looking for. Well, actually, shocked. But surprised sounds nicer."

Hermione stared at him, feeling the barest hint of self-consciousness edging in on her mind. "Surprised at what?"

"That you were genuine when you said you wished to continue this… this affair with me."

Hermione kept her sigh of relief to herself. Maybe, at a more appropriate juncture, she would remind Snape that she was a little inexperienced and wary about all this still. But, for now, she let it pass. Instead, she grinned over at him, rolling onto her side to throw an arm over his sweaty chest.

"You're… what I need, Severus. Without you, and your comforts of all kinds, I'm not sure I would have survived in this new world. Actually, I'm sure I wouldn't have."

Snape smirked. "Yes, you seem a little… reluctant to follow orders."

She grinned wickedly. "Never been one for slavery, personally."

He chuckled again, but curbed it with a serious look. "But… what happens when it's all over? When you've had your revolution?"

It would probably surprise him further to discover that this had, in fact, been a scenario that had crossed her mind. After all, all she had worked toward so far was the fall of Voldemort and his oppression and destruction. So, of course, she had considered what could happen in the wake of the Dark Lord's destruction.

"I think I'd like to continue seeing you," she said, decisively. "Form a real relationship."

She was right. He was quite shocked to hear this. His eyes had doubled, and he seemed unable to tear his gaze away from her. She smiled.

"Enemies can become lovers," she parroted his own words at him.

He smiled at her, and, again, Hermione would never cease to marvel at what a wonderful look it was on him. But, in a moment, it was gone with the chiming of a clock on the far wall of Snape's bedroom. "It's time."

They both rose, redressing and freshening up as best they could. The candles floating in Snape's bedroom had lit as soon as their feet had hit the floor, and Hermione would really have to ask him what charm he had used for that. But that was for later. Right now, they had a meeting to get to.

Fully dressed, they moved together downstairs and out the front door of the house. Hermione found it odd that she no longer had to hide herself in the shadows to attend these meetings, and she was fighting a serious urge to duck under the protective cover of a small tree right on the property line just out of habit. She managed, though, as they reached the apparition point.

"You should side-along me. To make everyone feel a bit better. That way, I won't know where we're going until we're there," Snape said.

Hermione arched a brow. "But… you'll know it once we're there."

"And how many of your friends do you really think will realize this immediately?"

Hermione pursed her lips. Only her. Maybe Ginny. She nodded. "Fine. Hold on."

They arrived just outside of the unused warehouse that had housed the first meeting that Hermione had attended. She ushered Snape into the shadows, wanting to do a bit of explaining before she brought him out to the group. She entered the building, leaving the door open a bit behind her so that Snape could hear, finding that everyone was already there, even Ron had snuck away from his new bride to attend. He seemed to be spending his time sneering at Draco, who seemed to be ignoring him for Ginny's sake.

It may have been Hermione's imagination, but she was sure that Ginny was finally starting to form a little bit of a pregnancy pooch around her stomach. It was kind of adorable on her, but it also served to remind Hermione of what was at stake. Neville turned as Hermione entered, and he looked somewhere between anxious and exasperated as he stared at her.

"What's going on? You said it was important. More information? What about the potion?" he said, apparently having been holding in these questions for a little bit.

Hermione held up her hands, palms facing out. "No, no. Nothing new, exactly. But I might have something better. I just ask that everyone is patient while I—we—explain."

"We?" Ginny asked.

At that point, as if they had planned it (they hadn't), Snape stepped into the light. In a flash, wands were out—those who still had them—and pointed right at his face. Those who didn't have wands anymore held up fists and began looking for blunt objects. Hermione—mirroring Ginny, she realized—stepped in front of Snape. She held up her hands again.

"Please! I can explain! He's one of us!"

"Ain't seen him at a meeting before," Ron huffed, wand still pointed.

Hermione glared in his direction. "You haven't been to _every_ meeting, have you?"

Ron's wand faltered as well as his expression. Hermione sighed. Taking a deep breath, she explained everything, allowing Snape to interrupt her with portions she couldn't explain as well as he could. He described the work he had done for Dumbledore—leaving out the why—and the real reason behind Dumbledore's death. That revelation seemed to knock the wind out of Draco, just a bit, but he said nothing. After a long round of story-telling, Hermione ended with, "Don't you see? This is it! We have a spy in the best possible position we could have ever hoped to have a spy in!"

No one spoke for a long moment, instead shooting one another questioning glances. Hermione knew what question they were asking most. It was the same one she had been asking all those months ago. Can we trust him? The first person to speak did so in a quiet voice, and it almost jolted Hermione to hear what he had to say.

"Crabbe was right," Draco whispered.

There was no malice in his voice. Just mild surprise. Like he honestly had no idea how Crabbe could have worked all of that out on his own. Hermione supposed she could understand that. Vincent Crabbe had never really been the brightest candle in the castle. But the slow build of guilt she felt growing in her chest was becoming distracting. Draco was staring at _her_ now, like she might suddenly have the explanation as to Crabbe's disappearance. It was as if he thought, if Crabbe had been right about Snape, perhaps Crabbe's father had been right as well.

Hermione gnawed on the inside of her cheek. She should confess. She knew that. They needed to trust one another. They were a team, and a team had to work together. Otherwise, it wouldn't work at all. But, just as her lips parted to reveal the truth, Snape laid a hand on her shoulder.

"I would remind you, Draco, that you too are a traitor now."

Draco nodded slowly at that, making no signs of protest. Hermione released the breath she hadn't realized she been holding. Turning her eyes to Neville, their leader, she began, "We need to get Harry out of that cage, and Severus is our best chance."

"Severus?" Ron whispered, but Hermione ignored it.

"And how are we going to do that? He's always there," Ginny lamented.

"No, he's not," Snape said.

At this, even Hermione turned to stare. This was not something he had shared with her yet.

"What do you mean, Professor?" Neville asked.

"He's been travelling. He's searching. For what, I confess I do not know. But the Dark Lord is not always at Malfoy Manor, as it seems even its own occupants have been led to believe."

Everyone began to murmur, wondering. Hermione brought back the attention with a single nod.

"So, we should hold off. We should hold off poisoning Nagini or releasing Harry until we know he's gone," Hermione said. "It'll be much easier to do both of these without worrying about Voldemort popping up over your shoulder."

"That would be my advice," Snape concurred.

"But my father, and Aunt Bella, they'll both still be there. What should we do about that?"

Hermione could hear the hesitation in his voice. She supposed she could understand, on some level. No matter how much she loathed Lucius Malfoy or Bellatrix Lestrange, these two were still Draco's family. Hermione, truth be told, would rather just hex them. But, instead, she shook her head.

"A sleeping draught. That should keep them out of the way," she suggested.

Ginny flashed her a small smile. Hermione knew Ginny had no love for these two people either, but she, apparently, had grown quite fond of Draco. Snape's words—like the familiar lyrics of an old song—replayed through her mind again. Enemies can become lovers.

"And when will we be doing all this, exactly?" Ron asked. "How will we know when the Dark Lord is gone?"

"I will know," Snape said.

"And we're _really_ supposed to trust that?"

Hermione face flamed. "You're married to Parkinson. And we still trust you, don't we?"

He blinked at her, appearing truly hurt. Hermione looked away. She knew she should care, and the thing was, she did. He was still her friend. Neville cleared his throat.

"All right. So, when the Dark Lord is gone, Snape—"

"And me," Draco put in.

"And Draco will kill Nagini and release Harry. We'll bring Harry to the safe house immediately after his release. Hermione, you can do that. You've been there."

She nodded. "I'll let Severus use my coin when he's going to free Harry, so you will know they're coming."

Ginny sighed happily. "Finally. A way to save Harry."

"It will require patience. To my knowledge, the Dark Lord is currently at Malfoy Manor, as he says," Snape said. "I only hear from him when he's leaving. We'll also have to move quickly."

Everyone nodded. After a beat of silence, Neville smiled, clapping his hands together once.

"All right. Let's do this!"

And Hermione was sure it would go down in history that this would be the first time that Neville Longbottom had ever willingly worked with Professor Severus Snape. This new world was a strange one indeed.


	23. The Plan, Changed

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or any related characters. Making no money here, as they all still belong to their prospective owners. 

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Three: The Plan, Changed**

Hermione's hair was splayed across the pillow as her eyes began to roll back in her head. Below her waist, snuggled in her womanhood, was Snape, and the things he was doing to her down there was nothing short of magical. She could feel that (now) familiar heat growing, pooling in her belly like some warm drink. Then, in the smallest moment, she was flung full-bodied into release, gasping and arching as Snape kissed his way around her thighs.

Without leaving his perch between her legs, he raised his head, a bright smile on his face. She looked down the length of her own body, returning the smile.

"I'll miss the frequency of this once school starts back," he said.

Hermione giggled up at the ceiling, feeling the warmth beginning to slowly ebb away. And once her thoughts turned from the bright, fuzzy pink amorphic things she pictured them to be at that moment to solid things, she raised up on her elbows, eyes wide in alarm.

"Severus, I was just thinking," she began.

"Yes?" he asked, moving to sit up on his knees.

"I… well, I intend to go back to school. To complete my seventh year. I've been thinking about it a lot. If we defeat Voldemort in enough time, I'd like to finish school properly. My parents would like that, and I would too. But… I was serious. I was serious when I said I wanted to continue to have a relationship with you. What do you think?"

Severus looked down her body, drawing his eyes away from her to gaze off somewhere in the distance. He seemed to be considering everything, and Hermione found herself biting her lip in nervous anticipation—a move that she was sure looked quite different since she was completely nude and sprawled out in front of him. Finally, he turned, meeting her eyes as if this was a normal way to be dressed to be having a serious conversation.

"Relationships between students and teachers are forbidden, even if the student is of legal age. It's in the school's bylaws," he said finally.

Hermione felt like she was a balloon that had been deflated. She drew her knees up, sitting up so she could hug them to her chest. All she could manage in response was a small, dejected "oh." She had her face turned away from him, resting her cheek on her knees. She felt him move up the bed, turning to sit beside her. His arms encircled her body, and he planted a kiss on the top of her head.

"But I'll wait for you," he said.

Blinking, she turned to stare at him. He grinned at her surprise.

"What's a year?" he shrugged.

She grinned, throwing herself on him and covering his mouth with hers. She trailed her hands up and down his body, maneuvering him until she lay atop him. He stared at her, and she arched a brow suggestively.

"Your turn," she whispered, kissing a trail down his chest.

He gasped as she lowered herself on his sex, using every trick she had ever read about to repay the favor of his explorations earlier. It wasn't long before his hands were wrapped in the bed sheets beside him, and he was whispering her name in a feverish way. She kept up the pace, employing her hands when her mouth needed a break every now and again. With a loud grunt, he found his release, and Hermione sat back, smiling and approving of her handiwork.

As she crawled back up the bed to lay beside him, he fumbled for—and found—his wand, cleaning their mess. She laughed softly as he leaned forward, kissing her tenderly. They spent several moments like that, kissing each other's mouths, necks, and chests, with their hands openly exploring their bodies. Hermione was feeling the heat within her growing, and she began to press her body against his, as if willing them to become one melded being.

That all came to a screeching halt when Snape suddenly pulled back, gasping, but not in ecstasy. He pulled his left forearm up, covering it with his right hand, but not before Hermione saw. The Dark Mark was burning on his skin. Voldemort was calling.

Snape's eyes turned to hers, but she nodded knowingly. "You have to go," she said, evenly. He nodded.

In a moment, he was dressed, and gone, leaving Hermione to wrap herself in the blankets and wait.

##

Snape arrived outside Malfoy Manor, expecting to see more of his Death Eater brethren arriving as well. As it was, he was alone. A creeping feeling began to come over him, as if he was being watched even though no one was there. He walked quickly, making it into the manor in record time. He paused just past the entry foyer. The rooms around him were dark. The only one that appeared to have any light within it was flickering its dull glow a little farther up to his right.

"My lord?" he called.

He waited, but the only response was his own echo. Where was Lucius? And hadn't Draco said that Bella was staying here as well? But the manor appeared almost deserted. Instinct told him to pull his wand, but he fought it. Best not to arouse suspicion if he was merely early. Instead, he followed the source of the flickering light into a room whose door was only partially ajar. He put his hand against the cool wood, creaking it open just a bit more so that he could enter without sliding in.

Hanging at the back of the room was the giant, golden cage and its lone occupant. Potter's back was to him, and he didn't seem as if he cared enough, upon hearing the creak of the door, to see who had entered. In fact, he hadn't made the barest movement to even let Snape know that he realized he was no longer alone.

"Potter?" Snape finally snapped. "Where is everyone?"

The Boy Who Lived turned, leisurely, looking thoroughly confused. He was a bit worse for wear. Although he had barely a scrape on him, he had visibly lost weight and there was a dark bruise formed under his right eye. The lens on his left side had the tiniest of cracks in it as well. Though none would believe it, it pained Snape to see the boy this way. Potter was annoying, yes, but he was still just a child in many ways. _Her_ child. This wasn't what he deserved.

"Why are you here?" Potter replied in a voice so small that Snape couldn't tell if he was angry, sad, tired or anything for that matter.

Snape entered the room a bit farther, daring a small glance backwards at the door. Voldemort did not like people visiting Potter without his express permission. He was so protective of the boy that Snape had begun to wonder that, perhaps, the Dark Lord had worked out where part of his soul had gone.

"I was… summoned," Snape answered.

A flicker of emotion flashed through the boy's bright green eyes. It was too quick to say what emotion it was, and Snape dared to draw closer.

"He's going to kill me tomorrow," Harry said.

It was like the boy was confessing his sins. Even as the words left his lips, he looked almost lighter. Well, he had been like Atlas to many people of the Wizarding World. It must be a relief to him, however grim the fate, to know that the weight of the world was finally lifting. But a different problem crossed Snape's mind. He knew what Dumbledore had said, and he had told Hermione it as well. Now, it was coming to pass… but he knew that Hermione would not be pleased that Harry was about to die without choice.

"Potter…" Snape began, but Harry lifted a hand.

He moved closer to the side of the cage facing Snape. He gripped the bars, using them to keep him steady on his feet.

"You should know. You're the only one who hasn't tortured me. And… And I know that you haven't hurt Hermione. Ginny told me, some time ago. So, you should know."

Snape's brow furrowed. "Know what?"

"Why you were really called here. Snape, he intends to kill you."

The former Potion master's eyes widened. Had Voldemort worked it out? That he wasn't keeping Hermione just because she was his so-called assigned companion? That he wasn't really loyal at all?

"Preposterous," Snape huffed. Best to keep the mask on, for now.

Harry shook his head. "No. It's because of the wand. The Elder Wand. It won't work right for him. It's because he hasn't _won_ it. He's not the wand's master. He thinks it's you. Snape, he thinks, since you killed Dumbledore, that you are the real owner of the wand."

Here, Harry leaned forward, dropping his voice. Snape had to lean in, almost touching the cage, to hear what Harry said next.

"But I've had a lot of time to think. I've figured it out. It _isn't_ you. It's Draco. He's the one that disarmed Dumbledore, remember? _He's_ the real master of the Elder Wand!"

Snape leaned back, digesting this new information. "Why tell me, Potter?"

"Because… Because you haven't hurt Hermione."

Snape blinked, surprised. He opened his mouth, ready to say something—anything—but Harry shushed him.

"Do you hear that?"

Snape paused, straining his ears. He did hear something, and it sounded like… like hissing. Before he could turn, he heard something that sounded like words within the hissing. Suddenly, Potter yelled at him, "Watch out!"

Thankfully, Snape's feet were moving quicker than his mind—a rare thing, indeed. He dove to the left, barely feeling the graze of something sharp across his shoulder. He did some hissing of his own as he landed, feeling a warm liquid forming at the tear in his robes.

Voldemort, with Nagini standing ready to strike again, stood across the room from him.

"My apologies, Severus. But… I must really have that wand. Nagini," Voldemort said, ending with another stream of hisses.

Snape didn't need know Parseltongue to realize what those words meant. This was it for him. He was trapped, and Nagini was ready to finish it. Even if he went for his wand, it would be hopeless. Voldemort had the advantage on him, given his injured shoulder. He would be much quicker.

He thought of Hermione, picturing her sweet, smiling face. And he thought of Lily, the flash of her hair in the sun and in her eyes. He could leave this world with at least some measure of peace.

Nagini struck, but she did not hit her mark. Just before she did, two pops indicative of apparition sounded by Snape's huddled form. He looked up to see Neville Longbottom, holding the Sword of Gryffindor of all things, and Hermione standing over him. Neville swung the sword as Hermione moved to wrap Snape's uninjured arm around her shoulders. Nagini's head flew free of her body, which collapsed, limp, to the floor. Voldemort unleased an unearthly screech, but it was cut short as the three of them—Neville, and Hermione side-alonging Snape—apparated away.


	24. Re-Group

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or any related characters. Making no money here, as they all still belong to their prospective owners. 

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Four: Re-Group**

Neville, Hermione, and Snape apparated into their destination, all three hitting the hard, wooden floors simultaneously. They fell apart, and Hermione was the first back to her feet. She knelt by Snape, trying to get close enough to inspect whatever wounds he might have received from Nagini's bite. He shoved her off of him, however, rising to his feet. His left hand was held over a spot just under his right shoulder. He looked around the room, shaking his head.

"We're in Hog's Head?" he asked.

Neville, who made his way over to the small bed to sit, shrugged. "Yeah. Dumbledore's brother, Aberforth, runs it. Seemed like the safest place to me."

Snape arched a brow, and Hermione took advantage of the momentary distraction to try and gently pry his hand from his wound.

"This is your so-called safe house? Merlin's beard, Longbottom, you might as well set up camp at Hogwarts! It'd be less public!"

"Well, funny, that—" Neville began, but Snape cut him off, turning to address Hermione.

"I'm fine. It's just a scrape," he said.

Hermione didn't still her efforts to look. "It might be infected. What if Nagini is venomous?"

"I'm fine! Or, at least, as fine as can be expected!" he snipped at her, turning away.

Her brow furrowed. "What are you talking about?"

"The Dark Lord now knows I'm a traitor! We've lost the best defense that anyone could possibly have in this world," he lamented, his voice low and gruff.

"How could he possibly know that you're a traitor? You just—" Hermione tried to argue, but Snape was still in no mood to hear it.

"You mean, other than the fact that my supposed slave and the leader of the resistance showed up to save me? If the Dark Lord hasn't pieced it together from that, then he will deduce it by the mere fact that I ran. A traitor runs. A follower—"

Now it was Hermione's turn to interrupt. "Gives his life? It's doesn't matter, Severus! I wasn't going to just let you die. Now, let me see your bloody wound!"

Hermione ignored the involuntary twitched that Neville did. It seemed he wasn't used to a peer using the Potions master's first name so casually. But nobody said anything about it, and Hermione finally pried Snape's hand loose from his arm. He hissed as she prodded at the wound a bit, but it seemed that he was, ultimately, right. It was barely a scrape. Probably just enough to sting and be sore for a couple of days.

"You're fine," she muttered, stepping back.

He nodded, taking out his wand and pointing it at the scrape. He began muttering an incantation over it, and she could see the skin beginning to knit together slowly. Putting his wand away, he stared down at her.

"What about Draco and Miss Weasley?" he asked.

And then, almost on cue, Draco entered the room. Hermione jumped, having never—in any of her visits—seen anyone but Neville enter through the door. Snape seemed just as surprised to see Draco in Neville's "safe house." When both Snape and Hermione turned to Neville, he shrugged.

"I figured our inside men might need safety more than some others. So, I told Draco where my safe house was at. I was going to tell you too, Professor. Just… hadn't gotten around to it yet."

"Quite," Snape sneered. Turning to Draco, he said, "Voldemort could suspect your involvement in tonight's events. Or future ones. You can't be guaranteed in yours, or Miss Weasley's, safety any longer."

"He doesn't suspect. At least, not my involvement. He might Ginny's now," Draco said, shutting the door behind him.

Hermione moved in front of Snape, fixing Draco with a steady glare. "What do you mean, 'now'? What have you done?"

Draco held up his hands defensively. "Calm down, Granger. Did I not just warn you about what was gonna happen to Snape? Did I not take you directly to Neville so you two could stop it? Did I not drink veritaserum so you could interrogate me and know it was the truth?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. She had hoped, with impending fatherhood facing him, that Draco might have become a little less pigheaded. She could see now that that wasn't going to be the case. She crossed her arms, while Snape looked down, a rare look of confusion on his face.

"Neville was already at Malfoy Manor tonight? Why?" he asked.

All eyes turned to Neville, who straightened. "Draco told me that Luna and Ollivander were being held in the cellar there. So, I busted them out. They're raiding Mr. Ollivander's store right now, so that we can give wands back to those who have had them taken."

Hermione's eyes brightened. "Neville. That's brilliant."

He smiled at her, and she returned it for just a moment before locking a cold gaze of stone on Malfoy once more.

"Ginny? You were saying?"

"Again, calm down. I just sent her away. I told everyone at the manor that she wasn't feeling well, so I sent her to a country estate. My family's got at least three."

"Voldemort could just as easily search them. He'll fine her with no problem," Snape said.

Hermione's heart thudded against her chest. But Draco, instead of looking properly worried, flashed a cocky grin.

"You're right. He could. But I'm quite good at Occlumency," he said.

Hermione huffed. "What's that got to do with anything?"

Draco shrugged. "He'll never find out that I just sent Ginny home."

"She's at the Burrow?"

Draco nodded. She suddenly felt an overwhelming need to hug him. She quelled it easily, though. Snape had moved to occupy the only chair in the room, set in a back corner, and from what Hermione could glimpse, his wound from Nagini was almost completely gone now. However, he looked more pained now than before. Hermione approached him, laying a hand on his.

"What's wrong?"

"I spoke with Potter before the attack."

Hermione sank to the floor by his feet, like a child awaiting a story. But she knew that this one was not one she probably wanted to hear. She pressed a hand to her chest, trying to slow her heartbeat. She could already feel her eyes watering, just thinking about poor Harry in that cage.

"He told me what the Dark Lord has been searching for… a way to master his new wand. The Elder Wand."

Draco and Neville both gasped. Hermione supposed that she should to. Sure, she had already heard the story about the brothers and the wand, ring, and cloak. And yes, she did find it strange that such a mythic object should be in play. But, apparently, it carried more weight with those who had grown up listening to those stories. Maybe if someone had said something about Cinderella's glass slippers being the key to saving their world, maybe she'd be more surprised then.

"He has the Elder Wand?" Neville asked.

"It's more than that," Snape said. "As I said, he can't master it. He's not its true owner. He thought… since I killed Dumbledore… that it was me. But… Potter figured the truth. It's not me. It's you, Draco."

Draco looked as if he had been slapped by someone wearing an invisibility cloak. He blinked several times before he finally mustered up a "What?" Snape nodded.

"Well, that settles it. Draco has to hide. Just as we'll have to now, Severus," Hermione said.

Draco seemed not to hear her. Instead, he locked eyes with his favorite professor. "Did Potter tell you, then? Did he tell you about tomorrow?"

Snape nodded. Hermione rose slowly to her feet, staring between the two of them. "What?"

Snape reached out, hesitantly at first, then finally with full force, grasping her hand and holding it. He barely looked up at her, through his curtains of black hair.

"The Dark Lord intends to kill Potter tomorrow evening."

Hermione's breath hitched. Her heart was surely going to hammer right out of her chest. The same three words just kept playing through her head. _He doesn't know. He doesn't know._ They just went, over and over, getting louder and louder as they kept on.

"It's going to be a bit of a deal, if I'm to understand. It's going to be done in the ballroom at my home," Draco explained.

Nobody spoke. They let the words sink in, and after that, they let them dance with what they already knew. There was the proverbial elephant in the room, and everyone could feel the pachyderm's gaze. Finally, Neville cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention. He scratched at the back of his neck, looking down and away from his compatriots.

"I really hate to say it, but… isn't that… isn't that what we wanted?"

Hermione's nostrils flared as she glared at Neville. "No! No! Harry deserves a choice! We're not just gonna leave him like some sacrificial lamb!"

A heavy sigh, from Draco and not Neville, followed. Hermione turned to stare at the blond.

"I thought you might say that, Granger. Here," he said.

He reached inside his robes and withdrew two small, thin vials. Within each, barely visible until Hermione was close enough to press her nose to them, was a hair. One was blond, one was black. She blinked up at Draco. From behind her, Snape said, "You propose a Polyjuice Potion."

Draco nodded. "The blond is my father's. The black is my Aunt Bella's. I may be a wanted man, but I was born in Malfoy Manor. I know it better than anyone. I can sneak in, slip the originals sleeping draught, and then two of you could walk in and give Potter his choice."

"We don't have time to brew any, though. It takes a month, and Harry is supposed to die tomorrow, you said," Hermione protested.

"I have some in my stores at the school," Snape said, standing. "I always keep some on hand ever since the Dark Lord rose again. Never know when it is going to be useful."

"Yeah," Neville huffed out a humorless laugh, "like when you've got to give your best friend the choice of dying for a cause or not."

No one spoke. No one needed to.


	25. The Choice

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or any related characters. Making no money here, as they all still belong to their prospective owners.

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-Five: The Choice**

They waited. Draco had left, saying that Lucius and Bellatrix would be asleep, guaranteed, by nine that evening. Luna and Ollivander had yet to return with the wands, and since one dose of Polyjuice—which Neville had snuck into Hogwarts and retrieved—only lasted an hour, they waited. And it was the most agonizing time of Hermione's life.

It seemed to take an age, but finally, Luna and Ollivander arrived, a host of wands with them. Hermione all but shoved Snape out of the way, ready to be wand-ed again. She remembered, back when she was getting ready for her first year at Hogwarts, that it had taken several wands before one finally took to her. The sky outside was darkening, and Hermione knew that the time to go was almost upon them. Ollivander was putting just as much thought into the wand selection as he would have standing in his own shop—rather than where he actually was. Luna was playing the part of shelves, dutifully holding on to the wands as Ollivander perused them and selected the next one for Hermione to try. Finally, on a wand about ten inches in length, dragon heartstring core—like her last wand—but with black walnut, it sparked, letting Hermione and all around her know that this was her new wand. Ollivander seemed like a proud father as he beamed tiredly down upon her.

"It's time," Neville said, checking his watch. "You'll both need to drink the Polyjuice. I, uh, took the liberty of grabbing a couple of heavy black robes and cloaks, so you don't have to worry about being properly dressed for the part."

Hermione turned to see Snape's lips pursed together. She wondered, suddenly, if those black cloaks were in fact Death Eater robes. Snape's eyes were on the floor, now, glaring it down like it had insulted his mother. Hermione cleared her throat, addressing the other occupants of the room.

"Um, not to be rude or anything, but… I think you should all leave. We have to change."

Luna nodded and left the room without a backwards glance. Ollivander and Neville, however, appeared to exchange a look, as if wondering why Hermione seemed so very not nervous about being in nothing but her knickers in front of Snape. But they, wisely, said nothing, leaving the room. Neville, alone, paused at the door.

"Ten, and I'll be here, waiting."

Hermione nodded. "Ten."

Neville pulled the door shut behind him. It was only then that Snape lifted his eyes and met Hermione's gaze. He was thinking something, she could tell by now. She reached up, starting to unbutton the jeans she wore.

"What?"

"I… I'm glad that you have a wand once more, Hermione," he said.

Hermione flushed red as the memory of her original wand's fate came screaming back to her. She dropped her jeans to the floor, stepping out of them. She bit her lip.

"I know that you did what you had to do. I'm sorry it took me so long to realize that."

He arched a brow, his top layer of robes all on the floor now. Hermione couldn't help but feel her heart thump hard against her breastbone. Now was _not_ the time to be thinking about everything a nude Severus Snape could do to her.

"So I'm… forgiven?" he asked.

His face was one of stony seriousness. But Hermione couldn't help but smile.

"I would've thought that that much was obvious."

Now, with him solely in his black boxers and her in her white panties and bra, he smiled back at her. He turned to the table, picking up the two potions. He handed her one, keeping the other for himself. They both pulled out their vials of hair, opening up the potion and inserting the hair.

"This taste horrible, and the transformation is anything but pleasant."

"Yes, I know. I've used Polyjuice before."

He blinked at her, and she wondered if he had figured out where those missing potions ingredients had gone or if he was simply writing it off as a necessary action while she had been traveling with Ron and Harry. In any case, Snape didn't say anything, merely holding up the bottle of potion, as if to say "cheers" before downing it all in one gulp. Hermione nodded once, mostly to give herself some encouragement, before doing the same.

It was disgusting, and felt like sludge going down her throat. But the change was almost instant. She could feel her body stretching, her hair lengthening just a bit, and her chest becoming a bit fuller. She was glad she had gotten out of her jeans and shirt, since they would have been painfully small on her. When the transformation was done, she turned to glance at Snape… only, it was Lucius Malfoy she saw instead. The long blond hair was shining in the candle-light. The body before her was muscled, but only a bit. The skin was pale, and the black boxers concealing the nether regions looked a size or two too tight now around the waist.

"Robes?" Hermione asked, more surprised than she should have been to hear Bellatrix's voice rather than her own.

Snape/Lucius nodded, tossing her a set. The two went about dressing in silence, and Hermione noted that the robes she had was two sizes too big. She pulled out her wand—something she would have to be careful to keep hidden while being Bellatrix—and muttered some spells to fix the lengths. She left the cloak a little bigger, the better to hide her face if necessary.

When she looked over at Snape/Lucius, she saw that he had fixed the fit on everything, even the cloak. She narrowed her eyes.

"What if we get stuck in the manor after the potion wears off?"

She was never going to get used to sounding like Bellatrix. Snape/Lucius waved his wand in front of his face, and a Death Eater's mask appeared, covering all of his features. With another wave, it was gone. Hermione nodded.

"Shall we go?" Snape/Lucius asked in the familiar, lazy drawl.

Huh. So that was just how the Malfoys sounded. Hermione nodded, and, hooked arm-in-arm, they apparated to Malfoy Manor. They made quick work of the drive, pausing just inside the manor to make sure they didn't run into the original Lucius and Bellatrix. It was a few minutes pass nine, so by Draco's word, they should have both been unconscious by now, locked in a deep—but temporary—slumber. Better safe than sorry, though, as they proceed with caution farther into the manor. Speaking of which…

"I still don't understand why we couldn't just… eliminate Bellatrix, at least," Hermione/Bellatrix whispered as they crept along.

Snape/Lucius arched another brow, but it was a very different look on the borrowed face. Somehow less intimidating.

"So odd that you're suddenly out for blood. This potion doesn't make you take on their personality, you know," Snape/Lucius commented.

Hermione huffed, and it came out of her borrowed mouth a little squeakier than she would have liked. It made her sound like a child arguing for candy.

"She is easily one of the most dangerous people currently occupying this manor. I can completely understand Draco's reluctance, given their relation, but it's still something that I feel should have been considered. Honestly, there's no telling what she's done to poor Harry while he's been kept here."

"Turn here. That room, over there," Snape/Lucius directed, bringing Hermione's attention to a door on her right side. Candlelight spilled from within it.

It was all she could do not to jog to it. But she kept her pace slow. After all, there was no way of knowing… but she cut that train of thought short. Instead, she turned, and voice that particular worry aloud.

"Should we worry about Voldemort just randomly popping in?" she asked.

Snape/Luicus placed two light hands on her shoulders, gently pushing her into the room. "That's why our visit here is to be quick."

Harry, sitting on the bottom of his cage, was facing the wall to their left. He turned when they entered, and glared at them.

"What do _you_ two want?" he snarled.

For just a moment, Hermione's heart flooded with guilt. He was angry at her, at all of them, because they had left him in this damnable cage. They'd left him to torture and malnourishment. But, a slight nudge from behind her reminded her, she wasn't Hermione, at least not to the naked eye. Sighing, she took a step forward.

"Harry, it's me. It's Hermione," she said. Then, turning and pointing, she added, "That's Snape."

Harry moved closer to the side of the cage facing them. He squinted at her, as if he could look beyond the mask of the Polyjuice Potion and discern for himself whether it was really Hermione or not.

"What's going on? What are you two playing at?" Harry asked in a low voice laden with caution.

In the speediest, and most watered-down, version she could manage, Hermione laid out Snape's story. It was the best, and truest, way to explain his presence and the choice that Harry would have before him. She knew she didn't know the finer points of the story, like the background with Lily, but that was okay. If that needed to be filled in, then Snape could do so himself. When Hermione finished—stopping just short of the real reason they were here, Harry was shaking his head.

"Why? Why would Severus Snape, the man who loathes me and murdered Dumbledore in cold blood, be really apart of the resistance? Why would he even consent to keeping me safe for Dumbledore all these years, if killing Dumbledore really had been planned?"

Hermione pursed her lips, wondering vaguely what it looked like on Bellatrix's face. She turned, meeting ice blue eyes instead of the inky black ones she wished were there. It was necessary. Snape's deepest held secret was what was necessary to tie his whole story together. She stared at the Potions master in Malfoy-form apologetically. He waved it off, looking past her at Harry.

"I was in love with her," he said. "Lily. Your mother. That's why I got so angry when you saw that memory in your fifth year. It wasn't the bullying I was receiving that I was embarrassed of… it was that I called her that awful word. I never, ever thought of her like that. I hated myself for it. Because… because she never spoke to me again, after that night."

She knew there were better times for this, but she couldn't resist. She glanced at Snape/Lucius.

"That night?" she asked.

He locked eyes with her. "I stood outside the Gryffindor portrait and begged her forgiveness. She didn't grant it."

Hermione reached out with Bellatrix's hand and clasped his. She turned, to see Harry's reaction, only to find the Boy Who Lived shaking his head.

"I can't believe this…" he murmured.

But that wasn't entirely true. She could see it in his green eyes. Harry was beginning to believe that it really was them under this mask of potion. She just needed one last push.

"I was jealous of Ron and Lavendar. I sent birds after him in anger," she spouted.

Snape/Lucius was staring at her. She couldn't meet his eyes though. Instead, she kept hers steadily locked on Harry's as they widened.

"They haven't tried to invade my mind. Voldemort ordered them not to. I figured he was scared of what they'd learn. Hermione?"

Hermione dashed closer to the cage, careful not to touch it in case of any protective enchantments. Harry grinned at her.

"Oh, Hermione. It's brilliant to see you. I mean, I wish you looked like you, but you understand."

She laughed. "I understand. But…" her smile vanished. "Harry, there's a reason why we're here. There's one more part to Snape's story."

Harry's brow furrowed. "What?"

She spoke the truth slowly. And she left nothing out this time. She wanted Harry fully aware. She wanted him to know exactly what was being told to him. And she was sure he had, when he sank down to his knees.

"A piece of _his_ soul… is attached to me?" he asked.

"Dumbledore told me himself," Snape/Lucius said softly. "It's why you could see into each other's minds. Why you can speak Parseltongue."

"So… I'm a Horcrux?"

Snape/Lucius nodded. "Of sorts."

"Which means…"

Snape and Hermione both nodded.

"Nobody's asking this of you, Harry," Hermione said. "I said… I said you deserve a choice. If you don't want this, we'll think of another way. We'll stop him somehow."

Harry smiled, but there was no happiness there. He blinked slowly, looking over at Hermione. Right now, she hated that Bellatrix was the face her friend was seeing.

"I know about Ron. And Ginny. I know about how the half-bloods and muggle-borns are being treated. Voldemort and the others… they taunt me with it. That's how I knew you hadn't hurt Hermione, Professor. The world has been forever changed, hasn't it?" He stopped, taking a long pause. Then, with a decisive nod, he said, "I'll do it. Voldemort plans to kill me in front of all his followers tomorrow night. Don't stop him."

Hermione let out a shuddering gasp. She supposed she should have known that Harry Potter, of all people, would be more than willing to play the sacrificial lamb. But she had hoped, and hoped so hard, that he would tell her to find another way. That they could save him. Tears were rolling down her cheeks. He put on a brave grin.

"Swear to me, Hermione. Swear to me that nobody will try to stop him from killing me. Then, after I'm gone, you can finish him off. Supposing that the other Horcruxes are out of the way?"

"They will be," Hermione sniffed. Bellatrix's voice did not make for an attractive crier, but she didn't care.

"Swear it, Hermione," Harry repeated.

She nodded. "I swear."

She was shaking, and she felt Snape/Lucius's arms wrap protectively around her. She turned, burying her face in his chest to quiet her tears. She could feel Harry's eyes on her, and when she turned back to him, he had a soft, knowing grin on his face.

"You'll be okay. Tell Ginny… Tell Ginny it's all right. Tell Ron the same."

She nodded, not trusting her voice anymore. In the hall outside the door, the sound of shuffling feet in the distance could be heard.

"We have to go," Snape/Lucius said to her.

She pulled up her hood, just in case, and nodded. She turned back to Harry.

"Good-bye, Harry. I'm—"

"I know. Go, now!"

Wiping her eyes, she and Snape/Lucius fled from the room, and the manor, leaving Harry to his fate.


	26. The Death of Harry Potter

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or any related characters. Making no money here, as they all still belong to their prospective owners. 

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Six: The Death of Harry Potter**

They apparated back to the safe room above the Hog's Head, and almost immediately after arriving, felt their bodies transforming back into their true shapes. It was painful, but not as much as changing from their bodies. Hermione was the first to finish, and she found the robes on her were not quite the right size anymore. With a quick wave of her wand, she fixed it, turning to see that Snape had done the same.

They exchanged a silent glance as Hermione bent, reaching into the pocket of her discarded jeans, and lifted the coin Neville had given her. She knew that Neville, Luna, and a few others were probably very near, but there were some she knew needed to hear this that weren't waiting in the pub just below. With an encouraging nod from Snape, she activated the coin.

It took just seconds for those nearest—Neville, Luna, Ollivander with his wands, and Draco. And it took several minutes more for the rest to arrive. Ron arrived with his brothers and sister in tow, and several of the wandless younger witches and wizards followed soon after that. For a long moment, as they all stood crowded in the room, no one spoke. Snape seemed to leave the floor to Hermione, and, for her part, she didn't trust her voice for the moment. She took several deep breaths, grateful that no one was pushing it. Finally, feeling the tears spring to her eyes even before a word could escape, she spoke.

"Harry's going through with it," she stated.

As one, the group around her seemed to suck in air as a hiss through their teeth. Hermione turned, trying to meet as many eyes as she could. Ginny had moved to bury her face in Draco's shoulder, and the rest of the Weasley brood was eyeing the floor.

"He… He made me swear not to stop him. Not to stop Voldemort from…"

But Hermione couldn't say it. She couldn't openly admit that she was going to stand idly by and let the darkest wizard of their time kill her best friend. The people around her knew, though. They all nodded, and they all looked grateful that she hadn't spelled it out for them. Snape gently pushed his way through the crowd, stopping at her shoulder. He laid a gentle hand there, and she reached to clasp it. It was a small comfort, and to hell with anyone who wanted to say anything now. Ron's eyes now looked as if they were trying to forcibly make him look backwards at the door with a minimal head turn. Others looked a little surprised, but, again, to hell with them.

She turned and gazed up at Snape. What she said next, she said loud enough for everyone to hear, but she truly spoke it to the man whose hand she held on to for dear life.

"I'm not going to let him be alone. I want to be there, even if I'm in hiding. He doesn't deserve to… He doesn't deserve to go through _that_ alone."

"You're absolutely right. I'll go with you," he said.

Her chest felt just the tiniest bit lighter. She always prided herself on being independent and smart, but sometimes it was just nice to have someone to comfort you. Especially when she could already feel the guilt gnawing away at her stomach.

"We'll all go," Neville put it. "It's time to end it."

Hermione's eyes flew to his. "What? What about the other two Horcruxes?"

Fred managed a small smile and a dismissive wave with his hand. "Psh. We destroyed those ages ago."

Her gaze narrowed in on the Weasley family. "We?"

"Yeah," Ron said, kicking at nothing on the floor. "We faked our way into the Chamber to get the fang to destroy the cup. Then we cast Fiendfyre for the diadem."

Hermione was sure her face looked rightfully alarmed. "Ron! Do you know how dangerous that spell is? That's why I never even suggested it! It's so easy to grow out of control!"

"Well, we contained it, and it's done," Ron replied defensively.

"Barely," George murmured.

"I heard that," Hermione said.

The twins both shrugged. Neville shook his head.

"As I was saying, it's time. We'll all go, the whole resistance. Voldemort's got loads more followers, and I use that term loosely, so if we all keep our faces hidden, we should be fine. When… when it's done… we'll swarm and attack. Tomorrow night will be Voldemort's end as well."

A small comfort, like any of the others before. But at least Harry won't have died in vain. Hermione was really having a hard time staying positive at the moment. Snape moved, just a bit, locking eyes with Draco.

"Remember what we've told you, about the Elder Wand. It won't act against its Master, that's why the Dark Lord is so desperate to control it. It has to be you, Draco. You're the only one who can strike the final blow against Voldemort, once Potter is…"

Draco sucked in a breath. "I didn't sign up for this, you know."

"Neither did Harry," Ginny and Hermione said in unison.

They met each other's eyes for a moment before looking away. Draco patted Ginny gently. "I know. I'll be there. I'll do it."

"I'll aid you in any way I can," Snape said.

Draco nodded stiffly.

"Then it's settled then," Neville said, no sense of joy or triumph in his voice. "Tomorrow night."

"Tomorrow night," the rest echoed back.

##

The next night was windy and a bit damp from a promised rain. Snape and Hermione—his face covered by a Death Eater's mask and hers by her overlarge cloak—entered Malfoy Manor, swept along by the throng of chattering people, silently. Once they were in the ballroom—decorated in deep greens and black, like it was somewhere in between a wake and a birthday party—they made their way to the spot farthest from the stage. They found that some small platforms, for further standing room, had been erected along the walls. They took their space on one of them.

The crowd around them was alive with a nervous excitement, so much so that the room seemed to hum. Hermione felt sick, like her knees might give out any moment and she might heave upon the floor. She leaned heavily on Snape, who kept a strong arm wrapped about her waist.

"I can't believe we're doing this," she whispered so low that she barely heard herself.

Snape said nothing, replying only with a single squeeze. The crowd around them were dressed in their Death Eater best, as Snape guessed they would be. Hermione pulled down the hood of her cloak a little farther, wanting to make absolutely sure no one would recognize her. She knew that the rest of the resistance was there, but she couldn't distinguish them from the loyal followers at the moment… which, she supposed, was a good thing.

It seemed to take ages, but finally, the golden cage housing the Boy Who Lived—to die, apparently—slowly descended from somewhere near the ceiling. Voldemort was sweeping onto the largest of the erected stages, his face the only one clearly visible—save for Harry's own. Hermione gripped Snape's arm so hard that she was sure she had to be hurting him, but he said nothing.

"My most loyal followers," Voldemort called out to the crowd.

Murmurs of adoration followed in response. He silenced them with only a stare. He gestured to Harry, who looked as if he had been put in fresh robes for this occasion. Harry stood in the center of the cage, his eyes searching the crowd. _He's looking for us, any of us_ , Hermione thought with a twang in her heart.

"Tonight is a most auspicious occasion. Tonight is the night I finally _kill_ Harry Potter!"

Cheers all around. Hermione wanted to sob. Voldemort continued to drone on with overly-dramatic flair, detailing his hatred for Harry. It was nothing that Hermione hadn't heard before, but it caused her heart to beat faster, the anticipation of what was to come was almost too much. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Voldemort held both his hands aloft. In one, his wand.

"Without further ado, I give to you, my Death Eaters, the Death of Harry Potter!"

He whirled, facing Harry directly, and Hermione knew what she had to do. She swore she couldn't stop this, and she knew, in her heart of hearts, that Harry's death was the only way they could fully destroy Voldemort. But she was going to help Harry in the one way that she _could_. She was going to let him know that he wasn't dying alone.

Just as Voldemort's back turned to the crowd—whose attention was solely upon the Dark Lord and Harry—Hermione dropped her cloak's hood. And somewhere, in the audience, she saw a single red head pop up out of the sea of black—Ron. Harry looked past Voldemort. And he smiled.

His mouth moved, and Hermione couldn't read the silent words. Instead, all she could see was Voldemort's wand moving, and those terrible words spill from his snake-like mouth.

" _Avada Kedavra_!"

A flash of green, and then the thud of a body that sounded too heavy. Hermione pulled her hood up with closed eyes, unwilling to look at the murder scene before her just yet.


	27. Terror's End

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or any related characters. Making no money here, as they all still belong to their prospective owners. 

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Seven: Terror's End**

It was the sound of concerned murmurs that drew Hermione's eyes up. For one shining moment, she dared hope that Harry had somehow, miraculously, survived the Killing Curse a second time. But it wasn't Harry that drew the concern, but Voldemort. The Dark Lord's body had been blasted off the stage, and he lay several feet away from the stairs. Bellatrix had, obviously, been the first to run to him. She knelt over him, saying things Hermione could not hear from this distance. It took several moments, but finally, Voldemort rose. Hermione had to admit more than a passing disappointment at this revelation. He gestured Bellatrix off of him, pointing toward the cage.

Hermione forced herself to stare at the cage, and at Harry's crumpled form. Bellatrix took the stairs quickly, racing over the golden prison. She bent, reaching through the bars. Hermione was still gripping Snape's arm, and he was just now gently prying her loose. She didn't take offense. She knew what he meant by it. It was almost time.

Bellatrix whirled to the crowd, a triumphant smile plastered all over her beautiful-but-gaunt face.

"He's dead!" she roared into the crowd.

The reaction was instead. Those who were followers of Voldemort returned her roar with a gleeful one of their own, while the resistance members tossed off their cloaks. The first curses that flew were not from the Death Eaters, but from the resistance using the upper hand of surprise. Hermione tossed her cloak to the ground, seeing the Snape had vanished his mask and done the same.

"Traitors!" Voldemort shrieked.

There were so many resistance members. Hermione had mere moments to be astonished… but astonished she was. Not even half of the number present had been at the meetings. But, she supposed that made a kind of sense. Perhaps the meetings had been the council, of sorts, deciding and planning and then passing the information along. It didn't matter now, though. All that mattered were there a lot of familiar faces, taking down Death Eaters even in her singular moment of thought.

Snape caught her about the waist, pressing his lips to hers in a quick and breath-taking kiss. She blinked at him when they parted.

"Good luck," he said.

"See you when it's over," she returned.

They separated, Hermione blasting her way towards the bulk of the fight, while Snape—and Draco, she noticed—blasted their way toward Voldemort. Hermione came to a stop, after blasting at least four or five Death Eaters off their feet, back to back with a familiar face—Tonks.

Her hair was red—like the color of an apple, not a natural ginger—and spiked short. They stood back to back, lobbing spells at any and all Death Eaters that attempted to take them. She did a double-take at the witch behind her. She did some quick math.

"Didn't you have a baby?" Hermione asked.

"Yes," Tonks replied, casting a spell that sent an approaching Death Eater flying over the heads of everyone and crashing into the far wall.

"Why in the bloody hell, then, aren't you with the baby? Why are you here?"

"My son needs to know what I stand for. A world where he can be accepted, no matter what his blood contains. And if I die for that cause? Well, he'll know I died for him, to protect him."

Hermione knew then and there that Tonks was not going to die, not if she could help it. They continued fending off Death Eaters, spells all the colors of the rainbow and then some flying all around them. Several seconds later, she felt Tonks go rigid behind her.

"Tonks?" she asked, alarmed.

"It's Harry," she said.

They switched spots, Hermione's heart leaping into her throat. Had he survived? Was he alive, only playing possum? But once her eyes found the stage, she found her hopes dashed as well. Instead, Tonks' meaning was more correctly put as "Harry's body." Bellatrix was inching closer to it, throwing off the spells of those too young to even be in this fight as easily as she might swat a fly. Hermione heard Voldemort's cackle and turned her eyes, for a moment, in that direction. Draco had made contact with the Dark Lord, with Snape at his side, and the two were throwing and defending spells as quickly as they could to keep up with Voldemort. But, thankfully, they appeared unharmed thus far.

"She'll desecrate his body. You know how she is," Tonks said. "Get to her."

Hermione nodded, once, and began to weave through the crowd. There were plenty of resistance members holding their own, so she avoided taking the time it would to throw spells. The advantage of surprise had aided them well, as they had dealt with enough Death Eaters to bring the numbers down to an even scoring. Hermione ducked behind a Death Eater battling with Neville, and shoved her shoulder into his back to throw him off balance. Off to her right, Ron appeared to be battling a man with dark hair and a face that resembled that of a dog. Hermione wondered, for a moment, if that was Ron's father-in-law. But she had no time.

She was anxious that she couldn't see the fight with Voldemort—couldn't see if Draco and Snape were okay. But she had her goal. She watched her friends fight as she wound through the crowd, casting spells and shoving where it would be useful to do so. She had made it to a cluster of Weasleys—Fred, George, and Percy. She stood back to back with them, and Fred grinned at her.

"Oy, Hermione. So, how's things?" he drew out.

She couldn't help but grin. "Not bad. Trying to get to the stage, though, is turning out to be Hell."

"Yeah, not to mention Bella up there guarding it like a dog with a bone," George answered.

Hermione glanced around, throwing an almost causal curse at a Death Eater who had broken off fighting with one of the younger members of the resistance to take a turn at her. It was his mistake. In the distance, on the stage, she noticed a flash of red hair making it up the stairs. Her stomach tightened.

"Ginny's not here, is she?" Hermione asked, jerking her head toward the stage.

Fred turned, looking with a wide grin on his face. "Nah, Ginny's safe and sound. That's Mum."

Hermione's chest loosened. Mrs. Weasley could take care of herself. After all, she had raised the twins. A cry from behind her made her jump.

"Fred, watch out!" Percy yelled, diving in front of the twin.

Hermione turned just in time to see the flash of green light strike Percy in the chest. Her eyes doubled in horror.

"Percy?" George asked, while Fred let his anger loose, returning the favor of death back on the Death Eater who had just taken their brother from them.

Hermione pursed her lips. She backed away from the scene, knowing that grief was a powerful weapon—and a thing they should have just to themselves, just for a moment. She fought her way closer to the stage. She passed by Lee Jordan, fighting two Death Eaters at once—and just barely breaking a sweat—and she passed a younger Hufflepuff as they successfully restrained Gregory Goyle. But the most heart-wrenching sight she passed by—wishing she could pause but knowing she had no time—was Remus Lupin, lying on the floor, his eyes wide with the shock of demise. She hoped whatever follower of Voldemort had caused his Death, had deprived a child of its father, had met a gruesome end.

It seemed an age, but she mounted the stage, leaping up from the front of it. Mrs. Weasley was hard at it, lobbing shot after shot back at Bellatrix, putting the dark witch on the defensive. But Bellatrix was smiling, laughing with every other spell deflected.

Hermione dared glance over to the left, where Voldemort was still battling with Snape and Draco. They looked tired—Draco and Snape, unfortunately—but not injured. Voldemort was looking decreasingly arrogant. Perhaps they were holding their own? She put her attention back on Bellatrix as she edge closer to the cage. Hermione joined the fray.

"Get away from him!" she shrieked, throwing a Stinging Curse at the witch's free hand as she reached toward the cage.

Bellatrix lobbed a spell back at her, but Mrs. Weasley stepped in, deflecting it was relative ease. Bellatrix cackled as both Hermione and Mrs. Weasley threw curse after curse at her, occasionally having to deflect one of hers.

"Poor Potter," Bellatrix teased. "I wonder how much fun I'll manage to have with him now that he's dead? Probably won't make as much noise now, huh?"

" _Affligo_!" Hermione cried, and Bellatrix's head flung to the left, as if she had been struck. She came back grinning.

"Didn't like that, did we? Well, that's the plan. And then, when I'm bored with Potter, I'll have some fun with some of the traitors."

"It's funny that you think you'll win," Hermione spat.

But Bellatrix was unfazed by her words. She grinned wider. "I wonder what I could do to a pregnant girl?"

Hermione could almost feel the heat of Mrs. Weasley's rage roll off of her.

"Not my daughter, you bitch!" she screamed, followed immediately by the Killing Curse.

It was too fast. Bellatrix couldn't block it, and the force of its casting sent her lifeless body hurtling off the stage. Voldemort let out a terrible shriek.

##

Snape was somewhat surprised by Voldemort's reaction to Bellatrix's death. It was almost as if he actually cared for her—though all who knew him best knew better. He rebounded spell after spell, not even trying to cast one to damage Voldemort, all in efforts to ease Draco's attack.

"Traitors! Was I not loyal to you, Severus? Was I not a fair and just lord?" Voldemort demanded.

"You tried to have me killed, for the sake of a wand," Snape spat.

Voldemort turned his cold eyes on Draco, who was perspiring a little, making his white-blond hair fall in strings about his face. "And you, Draco? What offense did I cause you?"

"My mother," was all Malfoy replied.

Voldemort gazed back at Snape, apparently realizing a losing battle when he saw one. He had, indeed, lost Draco the moment he had killed his mother, threatened his unborn child. These were easy things to understand. But the Dark Lord still looked puzzled over Snape.

"Severus," he hissed. "You could have simply begged forgiveness. I would have forgiven you. You've been my most loyal servant, defying and killing Dumbledore for me."

Years of playing the loyal follower, years of keeping it all locked up inside, finally broke loose. Snape kept just enough control to keep his spells steady and focused. After all, his anger was no good if he was killed in the middle of releasing it. But his face contorted into a snarl.

"Loyal? _Loyal_? I haven't been loyal to you for years! I've played you like a fool, Voldemort," Snape roared at him.

"How dare—"

"You killed her!"

Voldemort blinked, taken aback. "Who?"

This did nothing but further fuel the rage in Snape's heart. "Lily!"

Spells were flying, but this conversation was obviously taking its toll on Voldemort. Draco was able to hit him on the shoulder with a hex. Voldemort hissed, shooting a spell back at Draco, but Snape stepped in front of the boy and deflected it.

"Lily Potter? The boy's mother? That mudblood is the reason for your defection?" Voldemort asked now, seeming truly puzzled.

"Do. Not. Call. Her. _That_. I loved her. And you took her from this world. And I swore to protect her son, the last bit of her left in this universe. And now you've taken that too. So now, you'll die, as you should've years ago."

Voldemort laughed, its high-pitched coldness seeming to surround the room and its occupants.

"Fools! I am the Master of Death! You've no idea the measures I've taken—"

"Your Horcruxes?" Snape asked. "Gone. Potter was the last of them, actually."

Voldemort blinked. "Lies!"

"Really? Did you also know that the Elder Wand won't work, at least properly, for someone who is not its master? Nor will it act against its true master."

"You, Severus?" Voldemort sneered.

Snape smirked. "No."

All of a sudden, Snape stopped. The pause made Voldemort hesitate, just a moment, trying to anticipate what the former Potions master would do. But Snape was a master of Occulmency, to the point that it was almost second nature to keep his guards up. Voldemort didn't see the idea cross his mind, as Snape dipped his wand low, shooting a Stunning Spell at the Dark Lord. The spell hit the wrist of Voldemort's wand hand. And he only barely registered Snape shouting, "Now, Draco!"

" _Avada Kedavra!_ " Malfoy shouted.

The Killing Curse hit Voldemort square in the chest, right over his heart. It took only a moment. His eyes went wide and white, all light leaving those red slits. He tumbled backwards like a marionette freed of its strings. His body thudded on the floor. And all sound in the room stilled. Then, finally, a great cheer rose up.

Voldemort was truly and finally gone.


	28. At Storm's End

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or any related characters. Making no money here, as they all still belong to their prospective owners. 

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**Chapter Twenty-Eight: At Storm's End**

Potter's funeral was quaint, despite its large number of attendees. There were no lavish decorations, or overly garish flowers. There were a lot of lilies, but that was to be expected. They buried the boy next to his parents, in Godric's Hollow, with a large tombstone declaring his name, birthdate, deathdate, and a quote from Beedle the Bard's "Tale of the Three Brothers."

 _He met Death as an Old Friend._

It was a fitting inscription, Snape supposed, but it was not the one he perhaps would have chosen. It was bloody morbid, and Hermione confided in him that she shared this opinion. During the remaining summer, they worked together—all of the survivors—to rebuild the Ministry. Kingsly Shacklebolt had been elected Minister for Magic, a wise choice. Snape had been put on trial, as he had expected—well, truth be told, he had not expected to survive, but given that he did, this was as he expected. He was found not guilty on all charges, on account of his service to Dumbledore—proven through a combination of his own memories, veritaserum, and Hermione and the other resistance members vouching for him. While the other surviving Death Eaters were sent away to Azkaban—which had quickly implemented a new way to keep prisoners, one without Dementors—only Draco Malfoy was acquitted as well, on account that he delivered the deathblow to Voldemort. Most felt that that was a fair trade.

The school year had begun anew. Snape had stepped down from his ill-gotten position as Headmaster, returning happily to the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. The students who had attended Hogwarts as their seventh year during the rule of Voldemort were given an option of returning, or of being considered graduates. Neville, Hermione, and a handful of others in their year returned. Ron Weasley, unsurprisingly, had not.

It turned out that Hermione had been serious in her declaration that she wanted to continue to be with Snape. It shocked him throughout no end, but he was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He enjoyed her company, her kisses, her fiery nature. He understood her, as well, given what she had experienced, coupled with his own past. They had suspended the most intimate part of their relationship, as talked about, during the school year. They spoke on rare occasions, when they dared snatch a few private moments for themselves. They didn't kiss or touch for fear of the consequences. And it was a miracle that no consequences ever seemed to come, given that most of those who returned with Hermione—even Ginny Weasley, after the birth of her child—knew something of their relationship during the time of Voldemort's rule. They had guessed it, and Snape had to rethink his opinion on almost all of her friends. Perhaps they were not as dense as he once thought them to be.

The nights were cold and lonely in his dungeon quarters. He had come to miss her, even though the intimacy they had shared had been brief. He couldn't bloody wait until summer. He used to enjoy the solitude of reading quietly in his chambers of Hogwarts, but now he found that he missed her just sitting nearby, reading herself. He had gotten quite used to her company, indeed.

A few months into the school year, and they had both been good. They kept to their not-touching relationship, trying to keep it a secret from those—the other professors, Headmistress McGonagall—who did not know. But a knock at Snape's chamber door—one that was carefully hidden and only a precious few knew about—roused him out of his book.

He opened the door, more than a little surprised to find Hermione on the other side. He blinked at her.

"You're not supposed to be here, Miss Granger," he stated simply.

"Nice to see you too, Severus. May I come in?" she retorted.

He stepped aside, gesturing to the settee behind him. "Perhaps being so informal isn't such a good idea, Miss Granger."

He closed the door behind him, and, for good measure, placed a Silencing Charm upon it. No need for any passersby to start any rumors. Hermione took the proffered seat, smiling softly.

"We're alone. I think we can be informal if we're well and truly alone."

She drifted off a bit as she said "alone" the second time, her gaze a little unfocused somewhere past his being. He moved to sit beside her.

"What's wrong?"

She was already sniffling. Merlin, he was no good with a crying woman. He wished he was, wished it with all his being. But he always felt so bloody awful and awkward, as if their crying was always, without question, his fault.

"Hermione?" he urged softly.

Holding back tears with a great sniff, she smiled. "See? That's better. It feels… better."

He placed a hand on her shoulder, bending to look her more fully in the eye. He repeated his question. "What's wrong?"

She shook her head. "Nothing, really. I just… I just needed someone to talk to. Someone who would understand."

He leaned back, not wanting to rush her. He understood this moment, now. He had felt it himself, several times. Potter had been well and gone for months… but she had not allowed herself to mourn, not fully. She had always had a crowd, someone for whom the tears were more for their benefit than for her own. He understood completely.

"Take your time, dear."

She laughed a little, and he raised a brow. "What?"

"You… calling me a pet name. Never thought we'd live to see that day, did we?"

He crossed his arms, a rare smile spreading his lips. "Yes, well, I never thought I'd live to see that day that I slept with the most annoying Gryffindor to ever step foot in the school… several times. But, here we are."

"Are you saying you regret this relationship?" she asked.

There was humor in her voice, but his answer was full of nothing but the utmost solemnity.

"Never."

She smiled a bit softer now, her eyes cast downward. She clasped her hands, holding them between her knees, and it appeared as if she was lost in some great maze of thought. He sat there, quietly, patiently waiting for her to find her way out. Finally, without lifting her eyes, she said, "Do you think we made the right call?"

"About…?"

"About letting Harry make _that_ decision. I mean, he was in a dark place. We still don't know everything they did to him, not even you know. I wonder… I wonder if it was the right thing."

She was crying, the tears falling silently to the floor. He scooted closer, wrapping a loose arm about her shoulders. She remained rigid, and Snape spent a few selfish moments damning his inability to comfort. When she caught her breath, she turned her shining eyes toward him.

"Severus… where do you think Harry is now?"

He sat back, a tad astonished. This certainly wasn't light conversation. But, again, he understood. He had asked himself the same question when Lily had been killed. And it was followed shortly by the "why me" survivor's guilt. Maybe he could help and nip that guilt in the bud all in one fell swoop. After all, it was killing him to see her like this, knowing he couldn't—within the confines of the school year—comfort her like he wanted to.

"This isn't something we could possibly ever know for sure within our lifetime. But… Harry willingly gave his life for those he loved. I have no doubt that he's at peace with that, wherever he's at. And I'm sure that he's at peace knowing that everyone he truly loved is safe and sound."

She was sniffling again. "So you don't thing… he hates me?"

Snape's heart broke, and it was like a glacier breaking down the middle. To hell with the rules. He swept her up in a tight hug, petting her head.

"Love, no… no. He doesn't hate you," he soothed.

She was sobbing into his chest, and he began to rock her, gently shushing her, more to calm her than to actually quiet her. After several minutes, when the hiccupping had finally slowed, she sat back. She looked away, and Snape heard a great sniff sound echo about his room. He tried to suppress the grin. She shook her head as she turned back to him.

"I'm sorry. It's just… I just got a letter from Ron, and it sort of… opened the floodgates, I suppose."

"A letter? What did it say?"

As far as Snape knew, Weasley was still married to the former Miss Parkinson. She had lost her father in the final battle against Voldemort, and no one had actually seen her since. Hermione sighed, trying to control her breathing.

"He was explaining to me about why he was going to… remain married to Pansy," she said. Quickly, she added, "Not that I care!"

Snape was no fool. He knew that Hermione had once had romantic feelings for Weasley, though Merlin knew why. A small part of him—the smallest, in terms of maturity—felt the familiar twang of jealousy at the mention. But he suppressed it, for her sake.

"Of course you care. He's your friend," he stated simply.

"It's more than that! Pansy hated Harry! It just feels like such a betrayal, a slap in the face! But… he explained himself. He told me about how Pansy parents were… He said that Pansy felt freed by her father's death. She feels badly for her mum, but… she's not in a great place with either of them. Pansy's actually with Ron at the Burrow, if you can imagine."

"I can't," Snape said dryly.

Hermione huffed out a laugh. At least now her eyes were devoid of tears. "Neither can I. I mean… I guess I'm happy for him. I mean, I'm happy for Ginny. Her daughter is adorable!"

He tried to smile, but he only felt half of his mouth pull upward. For a moment, he feared she might be angry at him. But she laughed, shaking her head.

"Sorry. I suppose we're not quite there in the relationship yet."

"There?"

"Yeah, where you do a better job pretending you care about my friends' lives."

There was no malice there, just more mirth. He laughed a little now.

"I'll work on it. Promise."

She nodded. "I know you will."

For a moment, they simply sat there, staring at one another. Then, with a breath, Hermione launched her body over at him, pressing her lips hard to his. He froze, just as he had on their first kiss, but recovered much more quickly. For a moment, his good senses left him, and he wrapped his arms around her, kissing her as deeply as he dared. Then, he thought he heard feet scuffling by outside his door. It brought their location, and their current teacher/student relationship, screaming back to the forefront of his mind. Slowly, he pushed her back.

"We can't do this. Not yet."

She was hovering over him, his face just inches from his. If she didn't move soon, Snape was sure all of his self-control was going to go straight out of the door. But, with a deep sigh, she settled back.

"I understand," she said, defeated.

She sat back, rubbing her face with both her hands. Finally, she stood. She smiled down at him.

"I should go. I guess I'm not making the wisest decisions right now. Thank you, for talking with me tonight. Good night, Severus."

She stepped past him, and a deep ache formed in Snape's gut. He reached out, catching her by the wrist. She turned back, eyes wide.

"Did you really mean it? I question it every day. Do you really want to be with me?" he asked.

She smiled, turning around and leaning over him. She pressed a long, full kiss on his lips, taking her time exploring his mouth. When she parted from him, she stayed close, locking eyes.

"Yes. And I'll show you just how much on Christmas break. Good night."

He smiled. "Good night, Hermione."

She let herself out, and Snape sat there for the longest moment. This coming holiday might be the best one he'd had in a very long time. What a strange new world this was to him.


End file.
